


Bunny Day

by ackermom



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Animal Crossing Fusion, Animal Crossing References, Animal Crossing: New Leaf, Choose Your Own Adventure, M/M, no bad endings!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:22:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 27,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23599792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ackermom/pseuds/ackermom
Summary: Spring has sprung in the seaside town of Samwell. The villagers bustle with excitement for Bunny Day, while police officer Jack struggles to express his feelings for Bitty, the baker. When Bitty’s most valuable ingredient vanishes, Jack discovers a way that he can prove himself to the baker— if only he can find the missing fruit in time!
Relationships: Eric "Bitty" Bittle/Jack Zimmermann
Comments: 18
Kudos: 17
Collections: Going Out With A Big Bang 2020





	1. rhubarb

**Author's Note:**

> welcome to the seaside town of samwell, where bunnies make pies and moose fall in love with them! 
> 
> this story was written for the [2020 going out with a big bang](https://goingoutwithabigbang.tumblr.com/) event to celebrate the end of check, please! i worked with the talented [karin848,](https://karin848.tumblr.com/) who brought this story to life so imaginatively with their artwork, which you can view below.
> 
> this is a choose-your-own adventure story! the choices are low stakes, given that this is an animal crossing (new leaf) au. it does allow you to "play" as if it were more like a real game, and there are enough different paths that you can play more than once! please note, there are no bad endings. just different outcomes.
> 
> [if any links don't work, please let me know! it may take me a minute to fix it, but i'll do my best.]
> 
> enjoy~

☼

Morning dawns slowly in the seaside town of Samwell.

At first, there is still the night; it carries sweet notes of fresh air on a cool breeze that blows in from the ocean. The sandy cliffs on the edge of town lie in gentle darkness, and Samwell’s villagers begin to stir from their dreams, wishing for another hour of sleep. Sunrise comes softly. Pink shadows rise over the distant mountains. Then the light grows, shining over the hills that roll to the sea, the silver river winding between the green slopes of land. Warmth glitters over the treetops. Dew shines on the grass as the morning arrives, a bright light through the darkness, as the villagers rouse in their tiny houses and think about starting a new day.

One villager is up earlier than the others. A cool wind blows in from the coast as Samwell’s police officer, Jack, crosses the train tracks into town. He turns his head east to the sunrise, his tall antlers hanging behind his head as he squints into the sunlight. For a moment, he thinks he sees a lion of a storm lurking on the horizon. They’ve had a miserably rainy spring so far, as is common on the coast. Then the white clouds drift open to reveal a pale morning sky, and the sun shines down on Samwell.

Jack can’t help but smile as he reenters the town. Around him, Samwell still sleeps. There’ll be a few villagers shuffling outside to tend their gardens and check their mailboxes, but as Jack heads to the police station, he passes undisturbed, as he has all morning. It was misty when he rose at dawn, and he worried that the day’s festivities would be ruined by rain. The town has been looking forward to Bunny Day for weeks; there are decorations to be strung, games to be played, and picnic blankets to be spread out on in the sun. And though bad weather never cancels anything in Samwell, a downpour might discourage the day. 

Jack reaches the police station, a squat grey building on the western cliffs. Samwell has been a quiet town since the mayor left, leaving Jack to run most of the operations. He doesn’t see himself as any kind of replacement, but he does take a certain pride in keeping the town together. It’s part of his sworn duty as a police officer— even though the biggest disturbance is the occasional misplaced time capsule. Nevertheless, it’s his duty to take care of the town. It’s the reason he was up at dawn on Bunny Day, pulling weeds across the entire town, from the southern cliffs all the way up to Main Street. 

The wind picks up again as Jack steps into the police station, but it’s a soft breeze. He hopes it’s a sign of good things to come. 

Bunny Day marks a turning point in Samwell, when the villagers no longer worry about snow flurries and frozen ponds. There will be crafts and cooking and, most importantly, the annual egg hunt. It’s a big event every year, ending with prizes and fireworks and a town feast at sunset in the plaza square. Jack brews a cup of coffee and settles down at his desk to review all the preparations before the big day begins. 

He triple-checks the Bunny Day agenda before moving onto his regular tasks: approving fishing license renewals, reviewing summer boat charters, responding to museum memos, and skimming over ReTail’s spring newsletter. By the time he sets it all aside, the sun is well risen over the sea.

Jack sets down his empty coffee cup and glances at the clock. The opening ceremony will start soon, and he should be there to cheer on the egg hunters. He grabs his jacket. As he stands from his desk, he instinctively glances out the side window. On the other side of the narrow river sits a small white-shingled house, its shone chimney stacked a little crooked, its garden carefully planted around the front door, a pure baby-blue. He’s accustomed to looking across the river for a good morning wave, although Jack knows that on Bunny Day, Bitty is probably hard at work at his bakery by now. 

The bakery is downtown, where Jack finished pulling weeds just an hour ago. It’s not exactly on his way to the plaza, but he could make time to stop by and say hello before the opening ceremony.

» Visit Bitty at the bakery.  
» Head to the plaza for the opening ceremony.

☼

Jack can spare a few minutes before the ceremony begins. He shrugs on his jacket and heads back downtown towards Bitty’s bakery. He sees a few villagers from afar, making their way in the opposite direction towards the plaza, and he waves at those who call through the trees, their arms laden with egg baskets and picnic blankets. The sun sparkles over the train tracks when Jack crosses them, and by the time his boots crunch against the stones of Main Street, he’s a little warm. Spring has finally sprung in Samwell. 

A bell tinkles overhead when Jack steps through the front door of the bakery. At once, it seems the world is transformed; he leaves behind the quiet downtown streets and emerges into a whirl of sweet air and oven warmth, filling the small shop. It smells amazing in the bakery, as usual. Jack lets the door fall shut, a little dazed, before he glances around and realizes the bakery is empty.

“Bittle?” he calls. 

For a second, there is just sugary silence. The bakery has a spell about it, with flour dusted countertops, sparkling display cases, and pastel baking tools arranged neatly in glass jars along the back wall. The air is never quite still, not even when Jack stops in front of the counter and waits. It’s a little dizzying, full of sweet smells and temptations. Just as he is about to call out again, the door behind the counter swings open.

“Bittle,” Jack exclaims, smiling. “There you are.”

The door swings shut behind Bittle, who steps towards the counter, a hot dish clutched in his grasp. “Jack! What are you doing here?” 

Jack shrugs. “I thought we could walk to the plaza together.”

Bittle smiles at him, the tips of his tall ears wiggling mischievously. “Aw. You thought I was going to forget about it, didn’t you?”

His paws are gloved with floral pot holders, and he sets the hot dish down carefully on the front counter, hardly holding back the smirk meant for Jack. He’s just teasing, Jack knows, although he wouldn’t put it past Bittle to get so preoccupied with baking that he lost track of time and missed Bunny Day altogether. 

“Of course not,” Jack says. He shoves his hooves into his jacket pockets. “I just wanted to see you.”

“Well, that’s sweet, Jack. But it’s a good thing you’re here, actually, because now I don’t have to haul this dish all the way down to the plaza.” 

Bittle slips the pot holders from his paws and waves them over the steaming dish as he talks. “It’s a new recipe and I made it just for you, because I know you won’t eat a single other thing that I make today.”

“What? That’s not true.”

“Don’t give me any of that,” Bittle says. “You’ll have half a slice of pie and eat nothing else because you’ve _already had too much sugar for one day_. As if there’s such a thing.”

He slides the baking dish towards Jack, who peers down through the steam. The amazing smell hits him at once. Warm and savory, something that smells like the perfect breakfast before a long day of running around town and looking after the villagers. It’s a dish that seems outside of Bittle’s usual realm of sweet treats (and for the record, Jack objects to the earlier assertion, because he could absolutely eat an entire pie of Bittle’s if left to his own devices). Although he does think he can smell something sweet in there…

Jack glances at Bittle. “Is there maple syrup in there?”

Bittle breaks into a smile. “You could sniff that out anywhere, couldn’t you?”

“Well, I—”

“It’s a quiche,” Bittle exclaims. He whips out a plate and fork before Jack can blink. “Full of protein, and I tossed in some maple sausage for good measure. To make it a little extra special.”

Jack blinks as Bittle pushes the plate at him. “Oh. I— thank you, Bittle. You didn’t have to make something just for me.”

“Of course I did! I wasn’t going to stand around and watch you turn up your nose all day. Although it really wouldn’t hurt you to have a pastry or two.”

“Maybe not,” Jack says with a smile. 

He really does enjoy everything Bittle bakes, but he’s spent enough time watching Bittle bake to know exactly how much butter goes into some of those pastries. He thinks he’ll stick to the mouthwatering quiche for now. It smells delicious, and it only gets more enticing when Bittle neatly cuts out a slice and plops it onto the plate for Jack. He remembers the opening ceremony suddenly, and he glances up at the clock. 

“We’re going to be late,” Jack says, digging his fork into the quiche. It’s still steaming, but he takes a bite anyways. _Mmm_. Sweet, savory, and delicious. He could devour this entire quiche by himself.

“See?” Bittle exclaims. His ears stick straight up as he pulls out a mixing bowl. “You did think I’d forget.”

“I don’t think you’ve forgotten,” Jack says through a mouthful of quiche. Is he really already scraping the crumbs off his plate? “I think you’re choosing to ignore what you’ve remembered.”

“I’ve got so much baking to do, Jack,” Bittle exclaims. He scurries around behind the counter, gathering ingredients: sugar, flour, and an amazing amount of butter. “Aren’t we already too late?”

» Just skip the ceremony.   
» But it’s important!

☼

Jack takes another look at the clock. He’ll definitely be late if he goes to see Bitty now. Watching the baker work is mesmerizing, but a distraction, and Jack should really be at the opening ceremony. The villagers have been looking forward to Bunny Day for a while. 

He heads back outside, keeping his jacket tight around his shoulders. The weather’s gotten a little warmer, the sun a little brighter, and the air is refreshing as he walks along the riverside. Across the bank, he sees villagers headed towards the plaza, laden with their favorite tools for egg hunting. 

The town plaza rolls into view as Jack comes around the river bend. Villagers gather under the shade of the town tree, its wide branches casting dappled light across the stonework. An hourglass has been traipsed out from the archives of city hall to mark the official start of the annual egg hunt, and the villagers mill around, relaxing on picnic blankets or by the river as they wait for the egg hunt to begin. Samwell’s holidays are casual events, but the Bunny Day opening ceremony is not a sight to be missed, if only for the mysterious appearance of Bunny T. Zipper himself, who initiates the egg hunt with alternating cries of excitement and misery. Jack’s always had a sneaking suspicion that Zipper is just someone in a costume, but he’s never wanted to get close enough to find out for sure. 

Jack finds a spot at the edge of the plaza and stands to wait. He can’t help but glance over his shoulder every minute or so, wondering if Bittle will even show up. He wouldn’t be too surprised if the baker was a little late, or frankly if he was too distracted to come at all. 

To Jack’s amusement, a pair of white ears appear on the other side of the bridge just a moment later. Bittle comes rushing towards the plaza, his rain boots scraping along the path as he pretends not to be running. His arms overflow with a stack of dishes that totter dangerously with each of his steps, and his raincoat squeaks across them. Jack can’t help but grin at the sight of him. The sky is beautifully bright without any sign of rain, but for some reason, Bittle has rushed down from his bakery dressed head to toe like he’s headed out into a storm.

“I’m here,” Bittle exclaims. His boots squeak to a halt just before Jack. “I haven’t missed anything, have I?”

Jack smiles. “It hasn’t started yet, Bittle. Do you need some help with those?”

“Don’t smirk at me like that,” Bittle says. He lets out a huff of breath. “I brought this quiche all the way down here just for you, and all I get is chirped. Take the top one, at least.”

“Quiche?” Jack repeats. He lifts the top dish, and once he’s up close, the wonderful smells hit him. “Is that what that is?” 

“Full of protein for egg hunting,” Bittle explains. “Or rescuing egg hunters from trees, or whatever is it that you do.” 

He nudges Jack as he starts towards the center of the plaza. “Help me carry these to the buffet table.” 

Jack follows him to the center of the plaza, where tea and coffee are being served. He helps Bittle unwrap the dishes he’s brought, but he only gets a glimpse of the treats before the table is swarmed by villagers, eager to get their hands on one of Bittle’s delicious turnovers. 

“I need those plates back, y’all,” Bittle exclaims as the crowd gathers. “Oh, put your shovel away before you pick up a fork, for heaven’s sakes!” 

Jack slips between the hungry villagers and stumbles from the crowd, just as another flurry of activity moves across the plaza. With an unbelievably cheerful _hello_ , Bunny T. Zipper appears out of nowhere to kick off the egg hunt; the villagers strike up with their nets and shovels before the hot turnovers have barely been finished, and Jack gets jostled to the edge of the plaza as Zipper’s Bunny Day speech begins. 

“Boingity boing!” he cries. “Spring has sprung, hippity flipper! I’m the lucky spring bunny, so call me Zipper!”

“This guy again,” someone mutters under their breath. A shot of silver fur squeezes out of the crowd, and Lardo stumbles forward, nodding at Jack with her net in paw. “Morning, Jack. Ready for Bunny Day?”

“I guess so,” Jack says. “It’s the same every year, isn’t it?”

“If you want to put it like that,” Lardo says. “But just think, every year we’re one step closer to finding out what Zipper is really hiding.”

Jack grins. “So we agree that’s a costume.”

“Definitely,” she says. “Not hunting eggs this year?”

“Someone’s got to keep you guys in line,” Jack says, only half-joking. He’s no climber or swimmer himself, but the number of villagers he’s had to rescue from up high or down below in a fruitless search for eggs is, well, a little concerning sometimes. “Although I hope we’ve all learned from our mistakes.”

“Nah,” Lardo says. “Someone’ll definitely get stuck up a tree again this year.”

She flexes her claws. “They shouldn’t bother. I’ve got a new strategy for Bunny Day, and it’s called a monopoly on the trees in this town.”

Jack smiles down at her. “You’ve got a little bit of an unfair advantage there, haven’t you?”

“Hey, I’m just using what I’ve been given.”

A chime rings out over the town. The clock has struck the hour, and the Bunny Day egg hunt has officially begun. Zipper lets out one last _yaaaay_ and the villagers scatter from the plaza. Wielding shovels, nets, and fishing rods, they scatter across town, winding in different directions to capture the first eggs of the day. Jack lets the villagers brush past him, noting who is most likely to need a deep sea rescue; then he turns back to the plaza, only to find it empty. 

“Lardo,” he asks, “did you see Bittle leave?”

She glances towards the river. “Hmm, he probably slipped out earlier while Zipper was talking. You know he’s got a million things to bake today. Oh, but—”

She crosses back to the buffet table, ignoring Zipper’s sighs of despair, and glances down at Bittle’s baking dishes, thoroughly cleaned out. “He said he needed these today. Should I take them back to him?

» Return the dishes to Bittle.   
» Let Lardo do it.

☼

“Alright,” Jack says with a wry smile. He really should be at the opening ceremony, but Bittle is already cutting him another slice of quiche and that’s too much to resist. To be honest, if he could hide out in the bakery with Bittle everyday, he would. “I won’t make you go if you don’t want to.”

“Ha,” Bittle says. He smirks at Jack as he begins dicing butter. “I knew it would be that easy. Thanks for not turning me in, officer.”

“You bribed me!” 

“Of course I did! I’ve got a lot of baking to get done if you want the sunset feast to have anything halfway decent on the table.”

Jack leans against the counter, smiling as he watches Bittle get to work. The evening feast will be a town potluck, as usual, and though it wouldn’t be fair to say that anyone in Samwell is a bad cook, he thinks all the villagers would agree that none of them are quite as talented as Bittle. Each villager has their own special dish to bring to potlucks, but by and large, most of the fare will be straight from Bittle’s bakery. Pies, sweet and savory, with turnovers and mousse and anything else that he might fancy making today. Jack is certainly not complaining. 

“So,” Jack asks, “what’s on the menu for tonight?”

“See, you do understand,” Bittle says. “I’ve planned an entire menu of delights, crafted specially for my favorite villagers. Or at least for anyone who shows up to the feast tonight. It’s going to rain later, you know.”

Jack glances out the front window, at the bright streets and blue skies. “Really? It looks nice.”

“It’s springtime, Jack. It’s fickle.”

Bittle finishes cutting the butter. “As for the menu, I have a lot planned! Bunny Day is one of the best baking days of the year. By the time we make it this far, I’ve been rolling in cloves and cinnamon and nutmeg for months! But winter’s over now, spices begone. I can actually bake something new today. Something different.”

“Anything new planned for tonight?”

“Well the quiche was new,” Bittle says. He glances down at the dish as he scoops into a hefty bag of flour. “Good lord, Jack. You don’t have to eat it all in one sitting, honey.”

Jack sheepishly sets his plate down. “It’s really good, Bittle.” 

“Other than that, I have a few ideas up my sleeve. I’ll be making pot pie, of course, like I always do, but I’m thinking of adding a little twist to it this time. Maybe a few varieties. I’m baking a carrot cake too— yes, you heard that right, a _cake_ , Jack—”

“I didn’t say anything!”

“You were thinking it! I saw that look on your face.”

Bittle throws a pawful of flour onto the countertop. “What else is there? Basil shortcake. Elderflower tea. Strawberry-rhubarb pie, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Jack repeats. He gets a pinch of flour tossed in his face.

“Obviously,” Bittle exclaims. “Rhubarb pie, rhubarb tarts, rhubarb ice cream. It’s Bunny Day, Jack. You can’t have Bunny Day without rhubarb.”

Jack smiles and dusts the flour from his nose. He’s only vaguely aware of what rhubarb actually is, but he knows that it’s one of the staples of Bittle’s Bunny Day menu. He serves rhubarb pie every year, and it’s one of his specialities that seems to get better with time as he finds new ways of preparing it. 

“Of course you can’t,” Jack agrees. “You’ve been planning this since last Bunny Day, haven’t you?”

Bittle glances up, smiling, the tips of his ears folding over. “How did you know?”

Jack smiles back.

“Speaking of rhubarb,” Bittle says, suddenly straightening up. He dusts the flour from his paws and roots under the counter to pull out a big woven basket. From inside, he produces a pair of gardening gloves which he slips onto his paws. “I’ve got to harvest mine before I go any further with this pie crust! I’ll be impressed if you can finish that quiche before I get back.”

Jack laughs as Bittle slips around the counter. “Don’t challenge me!” 

The bell on the front door chimes when Bittle steps outside, the basket clutched under his arm. Jack almost follows him; he’s spent many a summer day with Bittle in the bakery’s garden, sitting on his knees in the dirt as Bittle hems and haws over his little plot of land on the side of the road. The bakery’s garden is where he grows the fruit for his pies, many of which can’t be found anywhere else in Samwell: strawberries, persimmon, and even tomatoes. It’s always been a labor of love, but it makes everything taste that much more special.

Jack turns back to the maple quiche, which starts longingly back at him. There’s not much point in resisting pastries if he’s going to eat an entire buttery quiche in one sitting, is there?

The bell chimes again.

“Are you going to grow tomatoes again this year?” Jack asks, turning to the door.

Bittle glances up at him, his pink nose quivering. His fluffy white ears, usually tall and perky, droop in half, the tips curled backwards; he stares at Jack, clutching onto the garden basket, and he mumbles something indistinguishable. 

Jack stands upright. “Bittle, are you alright?”

“My rhubarb,” Bittle says softly. “It’s all gone.”

“What?”

“It’s gone, Jack,” Bittle sighs. 

He slumps back against the door, lowering the garden basket. “I should’ve pulled it up last night, but I thought a little spring dew might do it some good, so I left it out for one more night. And now it’s all gone. Something must’ve gotten to it, Jack. It’s all been pulled up.”

Jack blinks in surprise. “Oh, no. Is that all you have?”

Bittle nods sadly. “I plant it every year just for Bunny Day. And now, it’s all gone.”

“Bittle,” Jack says softly. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh, I’m just being dramatic,” Bittle says with a sigh. He slips off the gardening gloves and tosses them back into the garden basket, shaking his head as he crosses towards the counter. “I always have to find something to complain about, don’t I? But I always look forward to making that strawberry-rhubarb pie, and rhubarb’s so hard to get around here. I guess I’ll just…”

He glances around. “I guess I’ll just have to make something else.” 

Jack frowns. Something about this doesn’t seem right to him. Would someone else really pull up Bittle’s rhubarb on purpose? It seems like a hard mistake to make, and if there’s foul play going on, then it’s Jack’s job to get to the bottom of it. Then again, Jack would have a hard time believing any villager would do that to Bittle on purpose. They all know how much he enjoys serving that rhubarb pie on Bunny Day, and they would only be depriving themselves. It doesn’t seem right that Bittle doesn’t get to make his favorite pie today.

» Investigate the missing rhubarb!   
» Find some more rhubarb to save the pie!

☼

“Come on, Bittle,” Jack says. He sets his plate down, afraid that he’s going to begin licking the crumbs. “It’s important. We should go.”

Bittle whips out a spatula. “But I’ve already gotten out the butter.”

“Your butter will still be here when you get back,” Jack says, although he can’t help smiling.

“Oh, alright,” Bittle exclaims, rolling his eyes. He reverses his scurrying, sending the ingredients back to their proper locations. He dusts his paws off on his apron. “I made turnovers for everyone anyways. We can bring the rest of that quiche too.”

Jack shakes his head, smiling, as Bittle unties his apron and scoots around the counter, thrusting the quiche dish into Jack’s arms and grabbing a tray of warm turnovers from out of nowhere. Trust Bittle to attend any event armed with baked goods, even if he hadn’t decided if he was going to show up. 

Sea breezes run up the street as Jack and Bittle leave downtown, heading south to the village. Bittle insists on wearing a rain jacket out, even though the skies are clear and bright. Jack listens to his predictions about the weather as they cross into town, their arms laden with baked goods. The plaza soon comes rolling into view across the river, the villagers of Samwell gathered in the shade of the town tree that looms overhead, casting dappled light across their faces. They relax on picnic blankets, or some with their feet in the river, as they wait for the egg hunt to begin. Samwell’s holiday are casual events for any who want to participate, but the Bunny Day opening ceremony is not a sight to be missed, if only for the mysterious appearance of Bunny T. Zipper himself, who initiates the egg hunt with alternating cries of excitement and misery. Jack’s always had a sneaking suspicion that Zipper is just someone in a costume, but he’s never wanted to get close enough to find out for sure. 

“Look, we’re not even late,” Bittle exclaims as they cross the bridge to the plaza. He smirks up at Jack. “And you were so worried.”

“We _are_ late,” Jack says. “Everyone else is already here.”

“Well, that’s just your opinion,” Bittle mutters. “Let’s set these up at the buffet before this plate is ripped out of my arms.”

Sure enough, the smell of warm turnovers has begun to turn the heads of villagers, whose stomachs growl as Bittle pushes through the plaza with Jack at his heels. They’ve barely set the dishes down before the buffet table is swarmed by villagers, eager to have a pastry or two with their morning coffee. 

“For heaven’s sakes,” Bittle exclaims as the crowd gathers. “At least put your shovel away before you pick up a fork!”

Jack hesitates to leave the maple quiche to be devoured, but Bittle pushes him out of the crowd and leads him to the edge of the plaza, sitting down in the soft grass by the river. He sighs, his stiff ears relaxing once they’re away from the commotion.

“The things I do for these people,” Bittle mutters. 

Jack sits next to him, or at least as close as he can get (the antlers). He smiles as Bittle fans himself with his paw. “You do it all for them, though.”

Bittle glances over at him, smiling slightly. “Of course I do. They’re my Wellies.” 

It’s peaceful, sitting by the river and watching the villagers exchange pleasantries over pastries; or at least it is for another second, and then activity flutters across the plaza again as Bunny T. Zipper appears out of nowhere with an unbelievably cheerful _hello_. The villagers strike up with their nets and shovels before the turnovers have barely been finished, and they fill the plaza to listen to Zipper’s Bunny Day speech that marks the beginning of the egg hunt.

“Boingity boing!” he cries. “Spring has sprung, hippity flipper! I’m the lucky spring bunny, so call me Zipper!”

Bittle mutters something under his breath.

Jack glances over at him. “What?”

“Nothing,” Bittle insists. Zipper’s speech continues, carrying loudly over the plaza. 

“I thought you liked Bunny Day.”

“I like the holiday,” he mutters.

Jack grins at him. “Not the mascot, eh?”

“Look at him,” Bittle exclaims, gesturing with a paw. From where they sit on the riverside, the view is very clear— something isn’t right about Zipper from the back. “He’s not even a real bunny. 

“I dare you to say that to his face, Bittle.”

“I would never do that,” Bittle says with a scowl as he sits back in the grass. He sticks his legs out, and Jack nearly laughs when he realizes he’s also wearing rain boots. 

“But you want to,” Jack adds. He grins when Bittle can’t hold back a smirk.

“This whole charade is a little over the top,” he says. He glances sideways at Jack. “Stop laughing at me.”

“I’m laughing _with_ you,” Jack corrects. A chime rings out over town, marking the official beginning of the egg hunt. The villagers scatter from the plaza. “It is a little ridiculous.” 

Bittle’s rain boots squish in the grass as he stands up, brushing himself off. “See? I’m right. And I’m busy. I’ve got three courses to finish by the feast tonight, Jack, so if you’re done holding me hostage at this ludicrous parade—”

“That’s a little much.”

“I’ve got to get back to the bakery,” Bittle finishes. He readjusts his raincoat and glances down at Jack. “I’m not kidding about the rain, Jack! Don’t get caught in it.”

“I won’t,” Jack promises. He waves Bittle off. “I’ll see you later, Bittle.”

He sits for another moment by the riverside as Bittle leaves, his rain boots squishing all the way across the bridge. He’ll have to get up soon; he can hear the villagers moving through the town, shooting down balloons and casting rods to find eggs, and he knows it’s only a matter of time before someone gets into more than they can handle. Some villagers are not quite as skilled with their tools as they believe, and there’s a number of pitfalls hiding in wait around town. He expects to make several rescues today, as is usual on Bunny Day. For now, he enjoys the weather. Bittle’s not usually wrong about rain, but he can’t imagine anything ruining a day as perfect as this one. 

He stands after a few more minutes, stretching his arms over his antlers when he spies Lardo crossing the plaza, her net in one paw, something shiny in her other paw. 

“Hey, Jack,” she calls when she sees him. “Did Bittle go back downtown?” 

“Yeah, just a few minutes ago,” he says as he approaches. He furrows his brow. “Oh, are those his dishes?”

“I think he forgot them,” Lardo said, clutching the dishes. “He’ll probably need them today, right? Should I take them back to him?” 

» Return the dishes to Bittle.   
» Let Lardo do it.

☼

“Show me,” Jack exclaims. 

Bittle glances up at him. “‘Hm?”

“The rhubarb can’t have just gotten up and walked away,” Jack says, although it wouldn’t be the least plausible thing he’s ever seen in Samwell. “Someone might have taken it, even just by accident.”

“Take my rhubarb?” Bittle asks. His ears curl. “Bless your heart, Jack, but you know no one else in this town knows how to cook rhubarb properly.”

“Maybe so,” Jack says. He straightens his badge with his hooves. “But in any case, I’m a police officer. It’s my job to investigate things that happen here, and that makes your missing rhubarb my responsibility. It’s the least I can do, Bittle.” 

Bittle stares at him for a moment, frowning, before he shakes his head with a sigh and gestures for Jack to follow him out the door. 

“Rhubarb isn’t common around here,” Bittle says as the bell chimes again. “So I guess, if you really think, maybe someone could’ve wanted it— mind you, I don’t want to get anyone in trouble! It’s just fruit.”

“Of course, Bittle.”

“It was probably just wild birds anyways, Jack.” 

Tucked against the side of the pink-shingled bakery sits Bittle’s garden. The garden boxes are planted along the roadside and against the building, leading down a stone path to a space in the back where tomatoes will climb vines come summertime. Bittle’s plants catch the sunrise on this side of the building, even the orange tree flowering at the back of the garden. Bittle steps onto the grass, his rain boots dipping in the morning dew, and Jack almost laughs out loud at the sight. The skies are clear without a cloud in sight. 

“There it is,” Bittle says. He sticks one brightly-colored rain boot out and toes at a little mound of dirt just off the side of the road. “Or there it was, I should say.”

It’s a dismal sight, a little hole in the ground where the rhubarb once grew. But that’s not why Jack suddenly feels faint.

Earlier this morning, when he was weeding the town to clean it up for Bunny Day, he crossed the train tracks and plucked the overgrown grass along Main Street as well. The shopkeepers always appreciate a little help maintaining their storefronts, and that includes the green space considering how rampantly weeds grow in Samwell. Jack’s happy to help, since real police duties are few and far between these days. But this morning, with the cool spring winds blowing in from the sea, and the sun still breaking over the distant hills, he thinks he must have gotten carried away with his work. He might have stepped a little too far off the road, taken a little too much care tending Bittle’s garden, and well— he might not have known the difference between rhubarb and a weed. 

Bittle glances up at Jack. “Somebody wouldn’t have done this on purpose, would they, Jack? No one in Samwell would’ve done that. Like I said, I think it was just those birds.”

Jack looks at Bittle, his words falling short. Bittle loves his garden, and he’ll hate Jack if he knows the truth. Then again, could Jack really look him in the eye and lie?

» [Tell him.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23599792/chapters/56639233/#apple)  
» Don’t tell him.

☼

“I’ll get you some more,” Jack says without hesitation.

Bittle sets the garden basket on the counter and glances over at Jack, frowning slightly. “What, Jack?”

“I said, I’ll get you some more rhubarb,” Jack repeats. He stands up straight, a wave of confidence rushing over him. Bittle deserves to bake that pie. “I’ll find some in town, and you’ll get to make all the rhubarb desserts you want.”

“I don’t know, Jack,” Bittle says. He grabs the basket and steps past Jack to slip around to the other side of the counter. “I buy my rhubarb sprouts from out of town every year. It doesn’t grow around here on its own, and sometimes it’s too cold even for the seeds, with the sea winds and all.”

He shakes his head, the tips of his ears curling tight. “Jack, I can bake something else. Don’t worry about it.”

“But someone might have taken it,” Jack exclaims, watching Bittle as he maneuvers behind the counter, setting aside ingredients and pulling out his recipe book. “In that case, it would be my job to recover the rhubarb for you anyways. It’s the least I can do, Bittle. Someone else has to have some rhubarb laying around, right?”

Bittle glances up as he dog-ears a page in the recipe book. He gives Jack a little smile, then shakes his head and looks back down. “I guess that’s possible, but it’s not exactly common around here. Honey, I’ll just whip up something else. There has to be something in this book…”

“You’ve got other baking to do,” Jack says firmly. “Let me do this for you so you can finish everything else in time for the feast tonight. You said yourself, it’s not Bunny Day without rhubarb.”

Bittle pauses for a moment. His pink nose twitches cautiously; then he brightens and beams up at Jack, gripping onto the recipe book with his paws. 

“Oh, Jack,” he exclaims. “You really don’t have to, but— thank you! I’ll save my strawberries, and even if I never get any rhubarb—”

“You’re getting your rhubarb,” Jack says. He pulls his police jacket taut across his shoulders and gives Bittle a grin before starting for the door. “Don’t worry about it! I’ve got your back.” 

Sunlight sparkles across the green grass when Jack returns to Samwell. He crosses the train tracks with a spring in his step and a clear frame of mind. Bittle was distraught at the sudden disappearance of his rhubarb; that garden is precious to him, and so is the traditional baking of rhubarb dishes to mark the beginning of spring. If there’s one thing Jack can do to help Samwell today, it’s not hunting eggs or pulling weeds— it’s replacing the missing rhubarb. He’ll put Bittle in better spirits once he finds some more rhubarb, and they’ll all be better off for it. Not to mention, he couldn’t stand the dismay on Bittle’s face when he relayed the bad news to Jack. Jack has to make this better for him.

He feels giddy with confidence all the way to the train station, and then he stops, the fruitlessness of this task dawning on him. Bittle did warn him; rhubarb isn’t native to Samwell. It’s not like Jack was going to walk around the corner and find a ripe rhubarb plant waiting for him. Truth be told, he would walk past a ripe rhubarb plant even if it was there. He doesn’t even know what rhubarb looks like, much less where he’ll find some before it’s too late. 

Jack checks with Re-Tail first, but he’s not surprised to find no rhubarb on the shelves. No matter, he’ll just have to keep looking. Surely someone will know where to find rhubarb. 

A patch of trees rustle on the river bank as Jack leaves the store behind. He stops in the path, watching curiously, before he spies silver fur through the leaves. He squeezes through the brush into a clearing and shakes his head to untangle his antlers from the low-hanging branches.

“Lardo?” he calls into the trees. “Is that you?”

The leaves rustle again, and then she drops from the tree, her tail swinging her down gently. She clutches a tree egg in her claws, and she smiles when she sees Jack.

“Hi, Jack,” Lardo says. “Looking for eggs?”

“Not exactly,” Jack explains. He sighs. “You wouldn’t happen to have any spare rhubarb, would you?”

Lardo’s whiskers twitch as she smirks. “You’re already on Bitty’s good side, Jack. You can stop trying.” 

He smiles, shoving his hooves into his pockets. “I’m just trying to help him out. You know rhubarb’s his favorite thing to bake for Bunny Day, and all he had went missing from his garden. You don’t have any?” 

She shakes her head. “Sorry, no. He gave me some last year when he had extra, but it’s long gone by now.”

“Right,” Jack says. “This might be harder than I thought.”

“Bitty’s the only one here who bakes,” Lardo says as she tucks her tree egg away. “I can think of a few other villagers you could ask, but I’m not even sure most of them really know what rhubarb looks like.”

“Yeah. Uh, by the way, what does rhubarb look like?”

Lardo laughs, turning back to the tree. “Tall, stalky. Red with a big green leaf on top. Looks kinda like a weed, if you’re not careful.”

Jack nods, taking care to remember the description. It might have been helpful to ask Bittle first, or to find out exactly how much he needs, but sometimes when it comes to Bittle, Jack’s bravado gets the better of him and he jumps in to help without asking. Thankfully Bittle has enduring patience, even that time Jack dropped a freshly baked pie crust onto the bakery floor and Bittle had to do it all over again.

He gets a sudden sinking feeling in his stomach.

“It looks like a weed?” he asks. 

Lardo glances over her shoulder. “Well, kinda, I guess. If you saw it sticking out of the ground, you might never know the difference between the two.” 

Jack feels dread rise through him. He got up early this morning to weed the town for Bunny Day, to spruce it up and keep it looking nice. He even plucked the overgrown grass on Main Street too, though he realizes now, suddenly feeling terrible, that he may have gotten a little overzealous. He took extra care to tend Bittle’s garden, knowing how much the plants mean to the baker, and unfortunately, he thinks he might have mistaken the rhubarb for a weed. 

“You alright, Jack?” Lardo asks. She’s already clambered halfway up the tree again, her strong tail supporting her weight as she scans for eggs in the branches above her. 

“I’m fine,” he says after a moment. “I’ll just keep looking. Thanks for your help, Lardo.”

Jack ducks through the leaves to exit the grove, and when he comes out on the other side, he lets himself begin to fret. Bittle loves his garden and every plant in it. Jack doesn’t know what he’ll say when he realizes this is all Jack’s fault; even worse is what he might say if Jack doesn’t follow through on his promise.

He has to find that rhubarb for Bittle. He tries to imagine where he might search.

» Go to the coffee shop.   
» Go to the island.

☼

“I’ll do it,” Jack says, taking the dishes. “Go on with the egg hunt.”

Lardo flashes him a grin. “Thanks, Jack. See you later.”

He heads north through town, passing the villagers as they search earth, tree, and sky for eggs. Main Street is quiet when he passes through, though he’s glad to see it looking nice and clean, given how much time he spent pulling weeds this morning. He steps through the bakery door, the small bell tinkling overhead, and for a moment, it seems as though he steps foot into a different word, one full of sweet smells, warm air, and sugar.

Jack shakes his head, glancing around. “Bittle?”

The bakery is empty, although he can tell that Bittle must be nearby. One of the countertops is dusted with flour, a lump of dough sitting in the middle. Bittle wouldn’t go very far and just leave dough out like that. Jack set the dishes down and peers over the counter, trying to get a look into the back room.

“Bittle?” he calls again.”

The bell on the door chimes again.

Jack turns around, smiling. “Oh, there you are. You left your dishes at the plaza and I thought you might need them, so…”

His words trail off as he takes in Bittle standing before him. His fluffy white ears, usually tall and perky, droop in half, the tips curled backwards. His pink nose quivers. He blinks at Jack, straightening up as he comes through the door, a garden basket in his paw.

“Jack,” he exclaims, putting on a smile. “What are you doing here?” 

“You forgot your dishes,” Jack repeats, gesturing over his shoulder. “I thought you might need them today. Bittle, are you alright?”

Bittle sighs, lowering the garden basket. “I’m just being dramatic, Jack. You don’t have to worry about me.”

“Is something wrong?”

“It’s my rhubarb,” Bittle says. He crosses towards the counter and sets the garden basket down, shaking his head. “I should’ve pulled it up last night to be ready, but I thought a little spring dew might do it some good, so I left it in the garden. And now it’s all gone.”

Jack frowns. “What do you mean, gone?”

“Something must’ve gotten to it,” Bittle says with a sigh. He leans his elbows on the counter and stares at the dough with sad eyes. “I plant it every year just for Bunny Day, for my strawberry-rhubarb pie, and now the birds have eaten it all up.”

Something pulls at Jack’s heart. He knows how much Bittle enjoys making that rhubarb pie for Bunny Day. Pulling up a rhubarb plant seems like a hard mistake to make, but he has a hard time believing anyone in Samwell would’ve done that on purpose. Something about this doesn’t sit right with him. 

» Investigate the missing rhubarb!   
» Find some more rhubarb to save the pie!

☼

"Oh," Jack says. "Well..."

Lardo grabs the dishes with a shrug. "I'll do it. I've got an advantage on all the tree eggs in this town anyways. I'll see you later, Jack!"

She waves as she starts off north towards downtown. Jack waves back with a hesitant hoof. When Lardo disappears over the other side of the bridge, he glances around at the empty plaza. He usually spends Bunny Day doing rounds through the town, making sure that none of the villagers need his help. Sometimes they get overly eager about finding eggs and end up in situations they can't get themselves out of. He should go and check that the police boat is still capable of making deep sea rescues. 

The morning passes slowly for Jack. A walk through town shows that it's still early in the day for villagers to be making bad decisions, so he avoids the balloons shot down from the sky and heads back to the police station to get some work done. Things move slowly in Samwell, especially without a mayor, but there's always something to be done. He gets a head start on the paperwork they'll need for summertime. He wouldn't say Samwell's a tourist town exactly, but being on the coast and so close to a popular island retreat, they see their fair share of visitors once warmer weather comes. People come looking for a quieter experience away from the big resorts, so there's always something to be arranged for them: boat rentals, camp sites, and so on. 

He works quietly until his pen runs out of ink, and then he decides to make another round through town. The weather's gotten a bit warmer and the sun shines a little brighter, and Jack takes his time, starting at the north end of town and working his way down towards the cliffs, where the sea breezes blow the strongest. He spies a gaggle of villagers donning wetsuits and snorkels on the beach. He'll have to keep an eye on them. 

He's just thinking about stopping in at the cafe when he passes a thicket of trees on the riverside and hears a very faint _help_ coming from one of them. Jack pauses, glancing around. He's almost certain he heard that. He waits for another moment, and then it comes again: the smallest _help_ calling out from the branches of a tall pine tree. 

Jack approaches, ducking through the thicket to avoid getting his antlers tangled. He glances up into the tree, but he can hardly see anything through the leaves. He calls out, "Hello?"

He hears an immediate sigh of relief.

"Jack!" someone exclaims tearfully. "Is that you?"

Jack frowns. "Chowder? What are you—"

The leaves rustle, and Chowder's head pops out from between the branches. 

"I'm stuck," he cries.

"Yeah, I can see that," Jack says. He peers up into the tree. "How did you even get up there?" 

"I was looking for a tree egg! I've never found one before, and I thought this would finally be my year, and Nursey said he could get one for me but I wanted to do it myself." He takes a breath, glancing down. "But it turns out I'm not very good with heights."

"Yeah," Jack says. He crosses his arms. "Um, Chowder, I'm not sure how much I can actually help you."

The tree rustles again as Chowder moves enough to squeeze an arm out through the brush, and he drops his egg basket before Jack. "Save my eggs! I did find a tree egg up here. Actually, there's a few. Do you want one?"

"No, that's okay, Chowder," Jack says. He glances around. "Er, I don't know if I could even climb up there, and even then, my antlers would just get in the way. Could you, um, try coming down a different way?" 

Something stirs in the thicket, and a second later, Lardo pops into the clearing, her claws out. 

"I heard the tiniest cry for help coming from one of these trees," she says when she sees Jack. He points up, and she squints. "Chowder? You know you can just like shake the branches to get tree eggs—"

Lardo cuts herself off, shaking her head. "Never mind. I can get you down." 

She claws her way up the tree trunk as Chowder sends her profuse thanks, and Jack takes a step back to watch, slightly concerned that Samwell's villagers consistently find themselves in ridiculous situations like this one. He's waiting for there to be a spectacle as Lardo rescues Chowder from the branches, but it only takes a second; his face disappears back into the brush, and a moment later, he is scurrying down with Lardo just behind him. 

"There you go," she says, dusting her paws off. "Now, I don't plan on jumping into the river to catch a water egg, but if I do, you'll come rescue me, right?" 

"Of course," Chowder exclaims. He grabs his egg basket from Jack's feet. "Take a deep sea egg! I've got plenty!"

He turns around. "Jack, do you want one too?"

"I'm good, Chowder," Jack says, shaking his head. "Please don't climb anymore trees." 

Chowder retrieves his fishing rod and starts off, giving them another profuse round of _thank yous_ as he disappears through the tree thicket. Lardo shakes her head with a sigh.

"Kids these days," she says.

"Yeah," Jack sighs. "Thanks for coming to help. I'd be more stuck in that tree than he was." 

Lardo leads him out of the tree thicket, pausing before she speaks again. "Jack, I know you're busy today, but can I suggest that you find time to visit Bitty sometime?"

"I'm not that busy," Jack says lamely. "And— yeah, of course."

He pauses. "Why'd you say it like that?" 

"Ah," Lardo says. She stops besides the trees, frowning. "I think he could use some company. Something happened to his rhubarb plant, and he was planning to bake with it today, so he's kind of upset.

"What happened?" Jack exclaims.

Lardo shrugs. "He says it was just birds, but it looks like someone ripped the plant right out of the ground, if you ask me. I have a hard time believing anyone in Samwell would do that to Bitty on purpose though. They're only hurting their chances of eating pie later."

"Yeah, I'll go see him," Jack says, nodding. "That's a shame. He takes good care of his garden..."

He trails off suddenly. A thought occurs to him— one so horrible that he almost doesn't want to believe it. But in that instant, he knows it's true. His stomach flips. This morning, when he was weeding through town, he got a little carried away and spruced up along Main Street too. He just wanted everything to look nice for Bunny Day, especially for Bittle, who cares so much about his garden, and Jack realizes now, that in the early morning light and with only a very basic knowledge of plants, the particularly tough weed he pulled in Bittle's garden this morning must have been the rhubarb. 

His mouth goes dry as Lardo leaves again, headed down to the beach for some fishing. He stands still outside the thicket of trees, wondering what he should do. 

» [Confess to Bittle.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23599792/chapters/56639446/#cherry)  
» Find some more rhubarb to make up for it.

☼

Jack feels a sudden knot in his stomach.

“Yeah,” he says softly. “Maybe it was just the birds.”

“Jack, you’re awfully sweet, but I’ve got a lot of baking to do today. I was really looking forward to making my strawberry-rhubarb pie, but it’s not like Bunny Day is going anywhere. I’ll do it next year. There’s plenty more to be done this morning, so you don’t have to worry about tracking anyone down, honey, especially not something as small as this.”

“It’s not small,” Jack exclaims, glancing down at Bittle. “Someone dug up your garden. They upset you.”

Bittle furrows his brow. One of his ears curls inquisitively.

“Well, yeah,” he says. “But there’s nothing to be done about it now, is there?”

Jack starts to say something, but Bittle cuts him off, shaking his head and shooing him out of the garden.

“It’s Bunny Day,” Bittle exclaims when Jack tries to protest again. “I don’t want us to sit around moping when we should be having fun! Besides, Jack, we’re both busy, aren’t we? I’ve got things to bake, you’ve got… important police duties, I’m sure. Let’s just forget about it and move on with the day.”

Jack swallows his words. “Alright, Bittle. If that’s what you want.”

Bittle starts for the bakery door. “Now, I’ve got some planning to do. I’ll have to dig out the recipe book and find another use for my strawberries.”

He glances over his shoulder at Jack. “If you’re not too tied up with important police duties, you could help. I can always use another pair of paws. Well, hooves, I guess.”

Jack hesitates for a moment. Bittle seems just fine, but Jack knows how much he loves for Bunny Day to be just right. Minutes ago, he was excited to bake his traditional rhubarb pie, and now he’s ready to find another recipe. On the one hand, Jack thinks he should just let it go and help Bittle with his baking. On the other, he feels terrible about his mistake, and even worse about keeping quiet. He wonders what he should do.

» [Help Bittle pick out a new recipe.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23599792/chapters/56639398/#yuzu)   
» Find more rhubarb. Bittle deserves it.

☼

“Actually,” Jack says after a moment’s hesitation. “I think I have got some, uh, police duties to attend to.”

Bittle blinks, his paw on the handle of the bakery’s door. “Oh, okay. I’ll see you at the feast tonight, right?”

“Of course,” Jack says. He hopes he’ll be seeing Bittle before then, but he has something to do to make that happen. “I’ll see you tonight.”

The bell on the bakery door chimes one last time as Bittle disappears inside, giving Jack a wave goodbye. Jack raises a hoof to wave back, and when the door closes, he sets off towards town. Bittle was distraught at the uprooting of his rhubarb, and for good reason; he cares for those plants all year, looking after them until they can be baked into something beautiful. And now it’s Jack’s fault that he won’t get to do that this year. The least Jack can do is try to replace the rhubarb.

Sunlight sparkles across the green grass when Jack returns to Samwell, though he doesn’t feel as bright as he did this morning. He doesn’t know the first thing about rhubarb, other than that it can be baked into a delicious pie, and he’s not sure where to start looking for it. He tries to imagine where he might search.

» Go to the coffee shop.   
» Go to the island.

☼

Jack takes a deep breath. If he can just find some more rhubarb, then Bittle will still be able to make his favorite pie for Bunny Day. But he doesn't have the first clue where he should look. 

» Go to the coffee shop.   
» Go to the island.

☀

A playful breeze rushes through the trees as Jack heads south through town. He’ll go to the cafe and check if Ransom has any rhubarb in stock there. He’s not sure they’ve ever served anything with rhubarb, but it’s the only other place in town to grab a bite to eat. He might as well ask there. 

He crosses the southern bridge towards the white cliffs that overlook the ocean. The breeze gets stronger as he approaches the sea; down on the beach, he can see a gaggle of villagers gearing up for a deep sea dive, donning wetsuits and snorkels to search for eggs underwater. Jack gets a little weary at the sight; he’s spent more than one Bunny Day out on a police boat, towing inexperienced divers back to shore as they’re chased by jellyfish. He hopes everyone will have more common sense this year, but that seems like a long shot.

The cafe faces the sea, and though a bell chimes over the door when Jack enters, it is much different inside from Bittle’s bakery. Gone are the pink walls and floral plates. Instead, the bitter scent of coffee overwhelms him. The lights in the coffee shop are dimmed, and from the corner comes a mellow guitar tone, strung out by a villager, Holster, who seems mindlessly lost in the music, not even noticing when Jack enters. Behind the counter, Ransom wipes down a set of mugs, humming softly along to the guitar. His round ears perk up when Jack enters.

“Funny seeing you here, Officer,” Ransom exclaims as Jack approaches the counter. “You’re usually known to frequent a certain downtown bakery.”

“Ha,” Jack says, because he’s not wrong.

“Can I get you a coffee? Don’t answer that, of course I can.”

The strong scent of coffee wafts through the room as Ransom navigates the espresso machine expertly. Jack takes a moment to glance at the cafe’s assortment of food. There’s a few sandwiches, some muffins, some tarts. He can’t tell if any of them are rhubarb just by looking at him. He hopes they’re serving a special rhubarb tart for spring, and he hopes they have a miraculous stock of extra rhubarb waiting for him in the back.

“Is this a Bunny Day miracle?” Ransom asks through a cloud of steam as the espresso machine hums. “Is Jack about to order a dessert?”

From the corner of the cafe, the guitar abruptly stops.

“Whoa,” Holster exclaims, looking up. “Is that what’s about to happen?”

“Sorry,” Jack says lamely. “I’m just looking.”

Ransom pushes the coffee towards him. “Of course you are. Well, here you go, your usual boring order.”

Jack scans the desserts again. “By chance, are you serving anything with rhubarb in it?”

“You allergic or something?”

“I’m looking for some rhubarb for Bittle. He lost all he had, and—”

“Let me stop you right there,” Ransom says, shaking his head at Jack. “We import all of our goodies directly from Bittle’s bakery. If he doesn’t have it, we definitely don’t have it.”

The guitars hums from the corner.

“He makes that rhubarb pie, doesn’t he?” Holster asks. He blows a kiss into the air with his hoof. “The perfect combination of sweet and start for a wonderful springtime treat.” 

“Maybe not this year,” Jack says with a sigh. “I accidentally pulled up his rhubarb plant.”

Ransom stops in the middle of wiping out a mug. He looks at Jack, then exchanges glances with Holster. “Is that a euphemism?”

“I thought it was a weed,” Jack exclaims. He clunks himself on the forehead with one hoof. “I just wanted the town to look nice for Bunny Day, so I pulled all the weeds without thinking about it, and I guess one of them was Bittle’s rhubarb.”

He sighs. “I have to find some more for him. He loves making that pie.”

Ransom makes an apologetic noise. “I wouldn’t even know where to start. Rhubarb’s pretty rare around here, right? I don’t think he’s ever used it in anything he’s baked for us.”

“If I had a stray rhubarb plant,” Holster says, his hooves clicking over the guitar strings. “I’d totally give it to you. For Bitty.”

Jack takes a sip of his coffee and tries to smile through the bitterness. “Well, thanks, guys. I guess I’ll just keep looking.”

“Someone in town might have some,” Holster says. “Oh wait, you should try the island! I’ve found all sorts of rare stuff there!”

“Really?” Jack asks.

Come to think of it, Jack’s not sure he’s ever actually been to the island. It’s supposed to be a popular vacation spot for people from around the world, but because Samwell is so nearby, many of the villagers take day trips to enjoy the sun and sea. He’s heard things about their market as well, the unique things that people find there. The chances of finding ripe rhubarb anywhere seem to get slimmer by the hour, but he thinks venturing out to an international trading market might prove more worthwhile than poking around Samwell.

“Yeah, they might have some,” Ransom says, setting the clean mugs aside. He throws his dish rag over his shoulder. “Or you know what? Try Dex.”

Jack glances at him. “Dex?”

“I’ve got no idea what he stocks this time of year,” Ransom explains. “But he’s got that greenhouse in the back that he never lets anyone into, and I’m convinced he’s hiding some kind of people eating plants back. But he could also have rhubarb.”

Jack downs the rest of his coffee to hide the stupid look on his face. He can’t believe he didn’t think to ask Dex sooner. He walked right past the garden store when he left Bittle’s bakery this morning. It should’ve been the first place he looked. And Ransom is right— Jack’s never been inside the greenhouse either, but he knows Bittle has bought rare ingredients from Dex before. This might be his best chance.

» Go to the island.   
» Go to the garden store.

☀

The wind rustles playfully through the trees as Jack heads south. He’s never actually been to the island before, but he knows that the market there sells all sorts of things from around the world. He hopes someone has some spare rhubarb, or at least knows where he can find some. He heads down to the beach and catches the boat just as it’s cruising into the harbor on a return voyage. 

“If ye want to go to the island, it’ll be 1000 bells per round trip,” the captain calls from the boat. Jack hesitates for a moment before forking over the bells. Bittle’s face will be worth it. “Gar, that be right as rain! Leave ‘er to me!”

The sun sparkles over the water as the boat leaves the dock, leaving Samwell behind on the horizon. It’s a slow voyage over the waves, the wind blowing in Jack’s face as he sits on the bow, but it’s pleasant, to be out in the sun sailing over the sea. For a moment, he forgets everything that he’s worried about and he sits on the boat, letting the movement of the waves rock him into a sense of calm. It’s too calming, actually, because in what feels like just seconds, Jack is jerked awake by the sudden halt of the boat as it pulls into the pier at the island. He stumbles upright, dazed, before thanking the captain and heading inside to the lobby. 

He’d expected the island to be quiet on Bunny Day, but the lobby is bustling with visitors. There’s a crowd at the reservation desk, hammering the attendant with questions, and a long line is already forming to board the boat that Jack just left. He holds back a yawn and heads to the market on the other side of the lobby. 

It takes only a quick glance to realize that he’s not going to find any rhubarb in the island market. Somehow, he feels like he shouldn’t have gotten his hopes up; but he’s heard of so many unusual things for sale on the island that he thought he still had a chance. Visiting vendors are quickly packing up their stalls, stowing their goods before Jack can even get a chance to see what they’re selling, despite the crowd in the lobby. He frowns, glancing around. Everyone’s leaving, he realizes. The visitors, the vendors— they’re practically storming the dock to get out. 

“There’s a storm brewin’,” a wheezy voice says from behind him.

Jack whirls around, startled; hunched over on a stool sits the oldest person he thinks he’s ever seen. She peers up at him with narrowed eyes and lifts her cane to poke the police badge pinned to his shirt.

“Me son brought ye over in his boat, yar?” she asks, squinting at him.

Jack takes a slight step back. “Yeah, I just got here. But— there’s a storm?”

“A storm’s a’comin’,” she explains in her creaky voice. “Ye best get out while ye can.”

“It’s sunny,” Jack says with a frown, glancing out the window. “I didn’t see a single cloud in the sky.”

She raps her knuckles on her skull. “That’s how ye know there be a storm.” 

Jack sighs. It seems like everywhere he turns today, there’s something getting in his way. Maybe the strawberry-rhubarb pie just wasn’t meant to be for this Bunny Day. It would be easier to believe that if he hadn’t been the one to pull up the rhubarb in the first place. 

“Hmmm,” the old woman says, watching Jack. “Something’s on yer mind, son.”

He blinks at her. “Oh, well, it’s just— I came over here to look for something, and I guess I’m just not going to find it. Seems like I can’t find it anywhere.”

“What ye be lookin’ for?” 

“Rhubarb,” he says lamely. “For a friend.”

“Must be some friend,” she says, “to come all this way.”

“Ha,” Jack says. “Well.”

With a pleasant ping, an announcement comes over the lobby suddenly that the next boat to Samwell will be leaving shortly. Jack sighs. 

“I should go before the storm comes,” he says, raising a hoof to wave goodbye to the old woman. 

She sits higher on her stool, pointing her cane right at him. “Hold on, son. Ye can’t leave the island without what ye was lookin’ for. The island always knows.” 

Jack watches with a bemused frown as she rummages through a chest of items, flinging things out over her shoulder. She pokes around with her cane as the announcement plays again, urging passengers to head for the dock, and Jack is nearly about to leave when she sits upright again, pulling a massive fish out of the chest and holding it out to him. It dwarfs her as she holds it, and Jack jerks back, startled.

“What is that?” he exclaims, eyes wide. “Is it alive?”

“It’s just an oarfish, son,” she explains, thrusting it at him. Ugh, it’s slimy. “I dunno where ye can find that rhubarb, but when ye do— that should cover it. For your _friend_.”

“I can’t take this,” Jack exclaims, partly because he doesn’t want to put this enormous slimy fish in his pocket, and partly because he knows how valuable it is.

She jerks her head at the crowd gathered around the reservation desk. “People be leavin’ all their catch behind to get a boat out fore the storm. I got plenty more for meself.” 

She smiles a particularly kind but toothless grin at Jack, who reluctantly stows the oarfish away and wipes his hooves off on his pants.

“Thank you,” he says, feeling equally relieved and disturbed. “Thank you, I— I better go, that’s the next boat to Samwell.”

She waves him off with her cane, and just as soon as he arrived, Jack leaves the island. Dark clouds are rolling in behind him as the boat pulls away from the dock, and he steadies himself for the rocky voyage back to Samwell. It looks like Bittle was right about the rain after all. 

The weather has only gotten worse by the time the boat docks in Samwell. The sun has disappeared behind an overcast sky, and the friendly sea breeze has turned cold and bitter, rushing along the beach and rustling the leaves of the coconut trees. Jack stumbles off the boat, missing the warmth and sun of the island. He’s not quite sure that having an oarfish gets him any closer to his goal of finding rhubarb, although it’s like the old woman said— if he can find some, an oarfish will certainly cover it. 

He wonders if he should even keep searching. Maybe he just needs a moment to collect his thoughts.

» Take a break at the coffee shop.   
» [The weather’s getting bad. Head to the bakery.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23599792/chapters/56639842/#coconut)

☀

Jack pushes the empty coffee cup back towards Ransom. “Thanks, guys. I think I’m gonna check out the garden store.”

“Sure thing,” Ransom says. They both wave as Jack leaves, the guitar humming on his way out. “Good luck! I can’t wait to eat some of that rhubarb pie tonight.” 

A chill wind blows across the cliffs when Jack leaves the coffee shop. He tucks his jacket tighter and heads north again, walking in silence as he crosses the train tracks towards downtown. The skies are a little darker, and he feels tired, even after drinking that coffee. Bunny day hasn’t exactly gone according to plan yet, and he’s wondering if there is an end to this trouble in sight. Hopefully Dex is selling rhubarb for spring or at least knows where Jack can get some.

The garden store sits at the edge of the downtown shops, and luckily too; Jack really doesn’t want to pass by the bakery right now, not until he can come up with something to give Bittle. He steps into the tiny garden store, wind chimes blowing on the porch, and he’s surprised to be greeted by a _ribbit_ at the sales counter. 

“Hey, Jack,” Nursey says from behind the counter. He gives a tiny wave with one webbed hand. “Sup.”

“Hi, Nursey,” Jack says. The wind chimes blow furiously as the door falls shut behind him. He turns around, frowning, and sees dark clouds rolling in from the south. It looks like Bittle was right about the rain after all.

He approaches the counter, hooves in his pockets. “Er, is Dex around at all?” 

Nursey gestures over his shoulder. “He’s out back.”

A back door leads to the greenhouse, a long glass building at least three times the size of the small store. Jack can barely see through the condensation gathered on the glass door, but he thinks he spies a flash of orange weaving between the rows of plants. 

“He’s left me in charge, if you need something,” Nursey offers.

Jack looks at him. “Dex left you in charge?” 

“I know, right? I’m really moving up in the world.” 

Jack glances around the shop. He’s not much of a gardener, and he doesn’t recognize any of the seedlings on the shelves. Hopefully Nursey can help him find what he’s looking for. 

“I'm in need of rhubarb,” he says plainly. 

“Sick,” Nursey says. He pauses. “Oh, that’s what you’re doing here. Yeah, sure, let me look.”

His fingers stick to the pages as he flips through the store catalog, lying on the counter before him. It’s a massive book, and Jack waits as Nursey navigates through it, searching for the ever elusive rhubarb. The store grows darker by the minute, and Jack looks back over his shoulder to the window. overcast, with storm clouds on the horizon. It’ll start raining any minute now, and he left his umbrella at home. Bittle would love this. 

“Rhubarb,” Nursey exclaims suddenly. He lands one finger on a page in the catalog and squints at it. “Yeah, looks like we have some.”

Jack’s heart leaps. “Really?”

“Uh-huh. That’s what it says in the catalog. the only thing is…”

Nursey trails off, reading. “It doesn’t grow around here. It’s kind of expensive.”

Jack closes his mouth. “ah.”

“Dex accepts barters though,” Nursey says when he looks up at Jack’s face. “You know, it doesn’t have to be straight up bells. Any bug or fish worth the value of a plant, he’ll take.” 

“Well, what’s the equivalent to rhubarb?” Jack asks, though he can’t even remember the last time he actually caught a fish. 

Nursey consults the catalog. “Should be about equal to a koi.”

“A koi?” Jack exclaims. “What about two fish that are easier to catch and half the price of a koi?”

“Oh, like stacking ‘em up?” Nursey says. He shakes his head. “Dex hates that. It’s more work for him, like you’re already coming in here without proper bells, then, you know…”

“Alright,” Jack says with a sigh. He glances down at his hooves. “It's just that I'm not that good at fishing.” 

Nursey shrugs. “Sorry, Jack. I don’t make the rules.”

Jack glances out the window again. The sky is dark, but it’s not raining yet. And he may not be the world’s greatest fisherman, but it’s not like it’s impossible for him to catch a koi. He might have to wade through a river of water eggs to find one, but they’ve been caught in Samwell before. He zips his jacket all the way up and turns back to Nursey.

“I’ll be back,” he says. “Hopefully with a koi.”

“You can take this,” Nursey exclaims. He reaches under the counter and produces a fishing rod that he nearly gets tangled in Jack’s antlers. “It’s silver. Don’t tell Dex I let you use it.” 

Jack takes the fishing rod, grateful for any amount of help he can get, and he waves Nursey goodbye on his way out of the store. The skies are much darker than when he came downtown, but he feels like he can at least give this a fair shot. His hooves may not be great for holding a rod, but he’s caught fish before and he’s full of adrenaline. He has to try, at least.

He makes his way into the town, weaving through trees and flowers to find a good spot by the river. The village is quieter than it was this morning. It looks like most of the villagers have gone inside to hide from the storm, though he hears a few intrepid egg hunters shooting down balloons with their slingshots. He comes to a bend in the river just across from the plaza and gives his first valiant attempt at catching a koi.

To Jack’s credit, he does catch it. But it’s only a water egg, and he throws it back with a sinking feeling that he’s spent the entire day chasing something that doesn’t exist. 

He tries again, aiming for the shadow of a fish that looks about the right size. He misses, so he tries again. And again when he misses that one, and again when he catches yet another water egg. 

Overhead, he hears thunder. 

Jack focuses on his technique. He must be doing something wrong. It can’t be this hard to just catch a fish— any fish, for that matter. He adjusts his grip on the rod and prepares to try again. If he can just get this right…

“Jack! Are you fishing?”

He jumps, glancing over his shoulder. “Chowder! Don’t do that.” 

“Sorry,” Chowder says, weaving between the trees. He carries a basket full of eggs and grins at Jack. “I was just surprised! I’ve never seen you fishing before.”

Jack sighs and lowers the rod. “I know. I’m not very good at it.”

“Well, if you’re looking for something specific, I could try to catch it for you!” 

“Oh, no,” Jack says politely, glancing at him. “That’s okay, Chowder, it’s about to rain anyways.”

Chowder sets down his egg basket. “That’s not a problem! Come on, Jack, I’d be happy to!”

» Gladly accept help.   
» Politely decline.

☀

A sudden chill wind greets Jack when he leaves the coffee shop. He frowns, glancing towards the sky; he's startled to find grey clouds rolling in from the sea, casting strong breezes through the town. The sun shimmers for another moment, but then it disappears behind overcast skies. It looks like Bittle was right to wear a raincoat. 

Jack picks up his pace as he heads down to the dock. Palm fronds blow on the coconut trees, and Jack is greeted by a spray of salt water on his face when he ventures out to catch the boat.

"If ye want to head to the island, ye best get on board," the captain calls from the boat as it rocks in the water. "We be headin' out on the last voyage fore the storm."

"Is it really that bad?" Jack asks with a frown.

"Ye better really want to go. Are ye comin' or not, ye sea urchin?"

"Er," Jack says. "I don't know."

» Take the last boat to the island.   
» Stay on dry land.

☁

"Alright, I'm coming," Jack says. He hops on board and hopes for a smooth voyage. 

The sea doesn't seem to care. The boat rocks wildly once it sets out from shore, and Jack grips on for dear life, getting splashed in the face by the salty waves that come overboard. They sail towards darker skies, huge storm clouds rolling in overhead. The waves only get steeper, and once Jack has lost sight of the land behind the, the storm begins in earnest. Rain pelts down from the sky. Thunder booms, and the world only seems to get darker by the minute. It's not long before Jack is soaked and shivering, nearly all thoughts of rhubarb lost from his mind. If he does find some on the island, he thinks it'll be worth it. If not— well, he'll cross that bridge when he gets to it. 

It seems like hours before the boat docks in the island harbor, and the weather onshore is no better than on the water. Jack stumbles onto the pier, his legs shaking as he tries to find his bearings again. The rain keeps coming, the winds keep blowing, and the force of the weather pushes him inside to the island lobby, dripping onto the floor.

It takes only a quick glance around the small lobby to realize that he's not going to find any rhubarb here. Jack's heart sinks as he circles the tiny island market. Somehow, he feels like he should have known; but he's heard of so many unusual things for sale on the island that he thought he still had a chance. The storm, it seems, has cut off access for many visitors, the ones who would've been bringing those unusual items. The few visitors remaining are tourists biding their time in the waiting area, casting worried glances to the windows. Jack approaches them anyways and asks if anyone would happen to be selling ripe rhubarb. They all shake their heads. Of course not.

Glum, soaked, and frozen, he paces the lobby. He wonders if he's truly out of options, or if this quest was all in vain to begin with. He supposes he'll just go back to Samwell empty-handed, but he's not quite sure what he'll say to Bittle.

A pleasant chime sounds overhead, cutting through the wind and rain. 

"Attention all passengers: due to bad weather, boat service is delayed until further notice."

Jack's eyes go wide as the other stranded passengers groan. How long could that be? The storm was just setting in when he left Samwell, and it's only gotten worse since he landed on the island. 

He sinks into a chair with a sigh, his antlers hanging heavy over his head. Not only has he let Bittle down, but he might be stuck on the island, and Samwell needs him for more important things than just Bunny Day. 

"Psst."

Jack glances up.

Crouched on a mat just across the aisle is a tiny kappa with flowers in her hair. She stares at Jack, playing with the shells set out before her, comically oversized in her small hands. 

"Hi," she sings.

"Uh," Jack says. "Hello."

"Do you wanna pway a game wiff me?"

"A game?" Jack repeats. "Uh, what kind of game?"

"A guessing game!" she exclaims. "My grams showed me! Pwease?"

"Oh," Jack says. He glances at the clock. "Well..."

» Pass the time with a game.   
» Just wait for the next boat.

☁

“I guess not,” Jack tells the captain. “It looks like it might get bad.”

He turns from the dock and trudges back up the beach. He’ll check the garden store then, to see if Dex has any rhubarb in stock. He’s not feeling particularly hopeful about this avenue, since Bunny Day hasn’t gone according to plan at all. He just hopes there’s an end in sight. 

The garden store sits at the edge of the downtown shops, and luckily too; Jack really doesn’t want to pass by the bakery right now, not until he can come up with something to give Bittle. He steps into the tiny garden store, wind chimes blowing on the porch, and he’s surprised to be greeted by a _ribbit_ at the sales counter. 

“Hey, Jack,” Nursey says from behind the counter. He gives a tiny wave with one webbed hand. “Sup.”

“Hi, Nursey,” Jack says. The door slams shut behind him with the force of the wind. Wind chimes in the window ring ferociously, and Jack watches as rain begins to fall outside. It looks like Bittle was right after all. 

He approaches the counter, hooves in his pockets. “Er, is Dex around at all?” 

Nursey gestures over his shoulder. “He’s out back.”

A back door leads to the greenhouse, a long glass building at least three times the size of the small store. Jack can barely see through the condensation gathered on the glass door, but he thinks he spies a flash of orange weaving between the rows of plants. 

“He’s left me in charge, if you need something,” Nursey offers.

Jack looks at him. “Dex left you in charge?” 

“I know, right? I’m really moving up in the world.” 

Jack glances around the shop. He’s not much of a gardener, and he doesn’t recognize any of the seedlings on the shelves. Hopefully Nursey can help him find what he’s looking for. 

“I'm in need of rhubarb,” he says plainly. 

“Sick,” Nursey says. He pauses. “Oh, that’s what you’re doing here. Yeah, sure, let me look.”

His fingers stick to the pages as he flips through the store catalog, lying on the counter before him. It’s a massive book, and Jack waits as Nursey navigates through it, searching for the ever elusive rhubarb.

“Rhubarb,” Nursey exclaims suddenly. He lands one finger on a page in the catalog and squints at it. “Yeah, looks like we have some.”

Jack’s heart leaps. “Really?”

“Uh-huh. That’s what it says in the catalog. the only thing is…”

Nursey trails off, reading. “It doesn’t grow around here. It’s kind of expensive.”

Jack closes his mouth. “ah.”

“Dex accepts barters though,” Nursey says when he looks up at Jack’s face. “You know, it doesn’t have to be straight up bells. Any bug or fish worth the value of a plant, he’ll take.” 

“Well, what’s the equivalent to rhubarb?” Jack asks, though he can’t even remember the last time he actually caught a fish. 

Nursey consults the catalog. “Should be about equal to a koi.”

“A koi?” Jack exclaims. He turns back to the front window. The rain falls heavily, slapping onto the stone street in fat drops, and the winds look rough. Jack doesn’t know if he could catch a koi in good weather. It might be too late for him.

» [At least try to catch something!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23599792/chapters/56641378/#durian)  
» [The storm’s only going to get worse.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23599792/chapters/56639809/#banana)

❀

“Sure,” Jack says. “I’ll play.”

The wind rages outside. When Jack blinks, he’s surprised to see the shells on her mat rearranged completely. She presents them to him by proudly stretching out her tiny arms: three shells, identical, lined up on the edge of the mat closest to Jack.

“You pick a shell,” she explains, “and you win the pwize under it.”

“It’s really just guessing,” Jack says. “Do I get any hints?”

She shakes her head so fast that her pigtails whack her in the face.

“Alright,” Jack says, furrowing his brow. “Then I’ll just pick..."

» The first shell.  
» The second shell.   
» The third shell.

☁

Jack does his best to smile. "Ah, no thank you."

Her eyes well up with tears, and before Jack can even blink, she rears back, wailing so loudly that she overpowers the wind and the rain. Jack jerks upright in his seat. He glances around. If anyone else is hearing this, they're seemingly unaffected by her tantrum. Maybe this is a well-known trap to frequent island goers.

"No, I'm sorry," Jack says, holding up his hooves in apology. "I'll play with you! Please don't cry."

"I don't wanna pway wiff you," she wails, tears streaming down her face. "Yer a big meanie!"

She wails again, this time throwing her head forward to send a snot blob flying at Jack. It lands on his boot, and he quietly stands and seats himself on the other side of the lobby.

He sits in silence, listening to the storm outside and trying not to think too hard about what he’s missing in Samwell. Bunny Day’s a good holiday- one for the town to come together after winter and spend time outside, remembering all the best parts of Samwell. And this year, Jack isn’t even there.

Worst of all, he’s completely failed Bittle. He didn't find any rhubarb, and at this point, it wouldn’t even matter if he did. He loses track of the time, sitting there and waiting for the boat, but he knows the Bunny Day festival will be happening soon. Bittle has spent all day baking, and even if Jack had gotten some rhubarb to him, it would’ve been too late for him to serve it at the festival tonight.

He drifts off, weary, wet from the rain, and a little bit grouchy.

» Zzzzzz.

☁

Ping!

Jack jerks upright in his seat. His antlers smack the wall behind him. He winces and leans forward, squinting around the lobby to see what woke him.

"Attention all passengers: boat service has been restored. The boat for Samwell will be leaving soon."

Relief floods through him, and he stands to make sure he'll be the first in line. It's not until he's waiting on the dock that he realizes: the sky isn't dark because of the storm. The rain has passed, and it's now past sunset. Bunny Day is over, and Jack missed it.

» [At least he gets to go home.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23599792/chapters/56641426/#lemon)

❀

Jack points to the first shell in line. “This one.”

She cackles. To Jack’s surprise, she leans forward and lifts up the third shell. A basket of fresh peaches sits beneath it, and the wonderful smell hits him. Where do they get peaches this time of year?

“I picked the first shell,” he says quietly, feeling as though he’s pointing out the obvious.

She grins. “Uh-huh! And now you know the pwize. So you can pick the first shell again and win that pwize. But yer my fwiend now, so you can change yer mind and pick the second shell.”

Jack glances up at her. “Is this part of the game?”

“The best part,” she exclaims. “You came to the island lookin’ for something, just like evwybody else. And you weren’t lookin’ for peaches…”

Jack raises his eyebrows. If they’ve got peaches out of season, then…

“I’ll give you a hint!” she says. She taps the first and second shells with her nails. “What yer lookin’ for is under one of these two shells. So you can stick with the first one! Or you can switch to the second one.”

She sits back with a squeal of laughter. “I hope yer good at math!”

Jack glances downs at the shells, stumped. It’s been a long time since he studied probability, but if one of these shells is really hiding the rhubarb that he needs, then he has to get this right.

» Stick with the first shell.   
» Switch to the second shell.

❀

Jack points to the second shell in line. “This one.”

She cackles. To Jack’s surprise, she leans forward and lifts up the third shell. A basket of fresh peaches sits beneath it, and the wonderful smell hits him. Where do they get peaches this time of year?

“I picked the second shell,” he says quietly, feeling as though he’s pointing out the obvious.

She grins. “Uh-huh! And now you know the pwize. So you can pick the second shell again and win that pwize. But yer my fwiend now, so you can change yer mind and pick the first shell.”

Jack glances up at her. “Is this part of the game?”

“The best part,” she exclaims. “You came to the island lookin’ for something, just like evwybody else. And you weren’t lookin’ for peaches…”

Jack raises his eyebrows. If they’ve got peaches out of season, then…

“I’ll give you a hint!” she says. She taps the first and second shells with her nails. “What yer lookin’ for is under one of these two shells. So you can stick with the second one! Or you can switch to the first one.”

She sits back with a squeal of laughter. “I hope yer good at math!”

Jack glances downs at the shells, stumped. It’s been a long time since he studied probability, but if one of these shells is really hiding the rhubarb that he needs, then he has to get this right.

» Stick with the second shell.   
» Switch to the first shell.

❀

Jack points to the third shell in line. “This one.”

She cackles. To Jack’s surprise, she leans forward and lifts up the second shell. A bundle of bright red roses sits beneath it. 

“I picked the third shell,” he says quietly, feeling as though he’s pointing out the obvious.

She grins. “Uh-huh! And now you know the pwize. So you can pick the third shell again and win that pwize. But yer my fwiend now, so you can change yer mind and pick the first shell.”

Jack glances up at her. “Is this part of the game?”

“The best part,” she exclaims. “You came to the island lookin’ for something, just like evwybody else. And you weren’t lookin’ for peaches…”

Jack raises his eyebrows. If they’ve got peaches out of season, then…

“I’ll give you a hint!” she says. She taps the first and third shells with her nails. “What yer lookin’ for is under one of these two shells. So you can stick with the third one! Or you can switch to the first one.”

She sits back with a squeal of laughter. “I hope yer good at math!”

Jack glances downs at the shells, stumped. It’s been a long time since he studied probability, but if one of these shells is really hiding the rhubarb that he needs, then he has to get this right.

» Stick with the third shell.   
» Switch to the first shell.

❀

“I’ll stick with the first shell,” Jack says.

She grins with a cackle and says nothing else, but leans forward to reveal the prize under the first shell. It’s a leafy bundle, wrapped with twine, of dark green leaves and bright pink stalks…

Jack’s eyes go wide. He may not have recognized rhubarb before, but now he’ll never forget what it looks like. 

“Where’d you get this?” he exclaims, reaching for the rhubarb bundle. It’s real and even better, it looks ripe. Perfect for baking.

The little girl smiles. “Evwybody comes to the island lookin’ for something. Sometimes the island knows.” 

Jack holds the rhubarb bundle delicately between his hooves, a sudden wave of relief washing over him. He found it. He was beginning to lose hope that anyone else in the world had ever heard of rhubarb, but now he has some to give to Bittle once he gets back to Samwell. His heart jumps a little. Will he be able to get back to Samwell?

“Thank you,” Jack says to the little girl as she rearranges her shells. “That was a fun game.”

“Come back to pway wiff me,” she says, waving as he stands and leaves. 

» [What luck!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23599792/chapters/56641489/#lychee)

❀

“Hmm,” Jack says, wondering if he should take a chance. “I guess I’ll switch to the second shell.”

She clicks her tongue at him as she lifts the second shell to reveal a bundle of bright red roses. Jack’s heart sinks a little. He wasn’t really expecting to win rhubarb from his swindling child, but it’s what he would’ve rather hand. Still, he won’t be going home empty handed.

“Ah, well,” Jack says as she thrusts the bouquet at him. “That was a fun game. Thank you.”

“Come back and pway wiff me again,” she says, scooping up her shells to rearrange them.

“I will,” Jack says, staring down at the roses. At least he could give these to Bittle, just to say that he’s sorry.

» [ What a long day.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23599792/chapters/56641639/#persimmon)

❀

“I’ll stick with the second shell,” Jack says. 

She clicks her tongue at him as she lifts the second shell to reveal a bundle of bright red roses. Jack’s heart sinks a little. He wasn’t really expecting to win rhubarb from his swindling child, but it’s what he would’ve rather hand. Still, he won’t be going home empty handed.

“Ah, well,” Jack says as she thrusts the bouquet at him. “That was a fun game. Thank you.”

“Come back and pway wiff me again,” she says, scooping up her shells to rearrange them.

“I will,” Jack says, staring down at the roses. At least he could give these to Bittle, just to say that he’s sorry.

» [ What a long day.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23599792/chapters/56641639/#persimmon)

❀

“Hmm,” Jack says, wondering if he should take a chance. “I guess I’ll switch to the first shell.”

She grins with a cackle and says nothing else, but leans forward to reveal the prize under the first shell. It’s a leafy bundle, wrapped with twine, of dark green leaves and bright pink stalks…

Jack’s eyes go wide. He may not have recognized rhubarb before, but now he’ll never forget what it looks like. 

“Where’d you get this?” he exclaims, reaching for the rhubarb bundle. It’s real and even better, it looks ripe. Perfect for baking.

The little girl smiles. “Evwybody comes to the island lookin’ for something. Sometimes the island knows.” 

Jack holds the rhubarb bundle delicately between his hooves, a sudden wave of relief washing over him. He found it. He was beginning to lose hope that anyone else in the world had ever heard of rhubarb, but now he has some to give to Bittle once he gets back to Samwell. His heart jumps a little. Will he be able to get back to Samwell?

“Thank you,” Jack says to the little girl as she rearranges her shells. “That was a fun game.”

“Come back to pway wiff me,” she says, waving as he stands and leaves. 

» [What luck!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23599792/chapters/56641489/#lychee)

❀

“I’ll stick with the third shell,” Jack says. 

She clicks her tongue at him as she lifts the third shell to reveal a basket of fresh peaches. The smell hits him at once, and Jack sits back, pleasantly surprised. Although it’s not the rhubarb he was looking for, he wasn’t really expecting to win any from his swindling child. Bittle would certainly love a basket of peaches out of season.

“Where’d you get these?” Jack asks, reaching out to touch the peaches. They’re real, soft and fuzzy.

The little girl smiles. “It’s an island secwet.”

She pushes the basket towards him, and he takes it delicately, a wave of relief rushing over him. He was beginning to lose all hope, and it’s true that he didn’t find the rhubarb; but this is almost as good. At least he has something to give to Bittle once he gets back to Samwell. His heart jumps a little. Will he be able to get back to Samwell?

“Thank you,” Jack says to the little girl as she rearranges her shells. “That was a fun game.”

“Come back to pway wiff me,” she says, waving as he stands and leaves. 

» [What a long day.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23599792/chapters/56641582/#mango)

❀

“Hmm,” Jack says, wondering if he should take a chance. “I guess I’ll switch to the first shell.”

She grins with a cackle and says nothing else, but leans forward to reveal the prize under the first shell. It’s a leafy bundle, wrapped with twine, of dark green leaves and bright pink stalks…

Jack’s eyes go wide. He may not have recognized rhubarb before, but now he’ll never forget what it looks like. 

“Where’d you get this?” he exclaims, reaching for the rhubarb bundle. It’s real and even better, it looks ripe. Perfect for baking.

The little girl smiles. “Evwybody comes to the island lookin’ for something. Sometimes the island knows.” 

Jack holds the rhubarb bundle delicately between his hooves, a sudden wave of relief washing over him. He found it. He was beginning to lose hope that anyone else in the world had ever heard of rhubarb, but now he has some to give to Bittle once he gets back to Samwell. His heart jumps a little. Will he be able to get back to Samwell?

“Thank you,” Jack says to the little girl as she rearranges her shells. “That was a fun game.”

“Come back to pway wiff me,” she says, waving as he stands and leaves. 

» [What luck!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23599792/chapters/56641489/#lychee)

☀

“Really?” Jack asks, relieved. “You would do that for me?”

“Of course!” Chowder exclaims. “Let me just—”

He smooths down his fur, and then in an instant, he dives into the water without as much as a splash. Jack gapes and leans over the riverbank to try and spot him, but he’s disappeared beneath the water. Jack sits back, and a raindrop lands squarely on his forehead. He glances up, frowning at the dark sky. Another raindrop falls, and then another. Jack’s beginning to wonder if he should take cover under a tree when Chowder pops back out of the water, proudly holding up a koi for Jack to see.

“That was so fast,” Jack exclaims as Chowder climbs up the riverbank.

“I know!” he exclaims. “That might be a record. Koi aren’t _that_ hard to catch, but they can be tricky to find sometimes.”

He presents the fish to Jack. “There you go, officer! Thank you for keeping our town safe.”

Jack thinks he can feel himself blush. “Ah, it’s just my job, Chowder. And anyways, this fish is…”

He shakes his head. “Nevermind. Thank you, Chowder!”

Rain pelts Samwell as Jack rushes back to the garden store. He’s soaked, and Bittle will make fun of him for leaving his umbrella at home, but he doesn’t care. He has the koi, and he’s going to get the rhubarb. Finally, after spending all day running around town in what seemed like a fruitless search, his quest has come to an end. The sunset feast may have to happen indoors because of the rain, but Bittle’s strawberry-rhubarb will be there at the center of the table. 

Jack bursts back into the garden store as a hale rushes down Main Street. He exclaims, “I’m back!”

Nursey glances up from the counter. “Oh, Jack…”

Beside him stands Dex, his arms crossed as he examines the store catalog closely. His face softens when he looks up and sees Jack. He sighs. 

Jack lowers the fish. “What?”

“I’m sorry, Jack,” Dex explains. He glares at Nursey. “I don’t know what this frog told you, but I don’t actually have any rhubarb in stock. 

“Oh,” Jack says. “What?”

“It’s just rhubarb seeds,” Nursey croaks.

“He misread the catalog,” Dex says, tapping the page. “I never sell fully grown rhubarb and I rarely even have the seeds. That’s why Bittle buys his from out of town, because even just the seeds are expensive here.”

Dex sighs again. “Sorry, Jack. I could just sell you the seeds, since you actually went out and caught a koi. And can I have my fishing rod back?” 

» [Settle for the seeds.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23599792/chapters/56639482/#orange)  
» [What’s the point of just seeds?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23599792/chapters/56639647/#peach)

☀

“That’s okay, Chowder, really,” Jack says, shaking his head. “It’s not even for me, it’s for Bittle, so I wouldn’t want to trouble you—”

“You’re catching fish for Bitty?” Chowder exclaims, his eyes going wide. “Jack, you have to let me help! What are you looking for?”

Jack’s protests fall short, even as rain drops begin to fall from overhead. Finally, he gives in, dropping the fishing rod and sitting on the riverbank as Chowder dives in to search for a koi. Jack clicks his hooves together nervously as the rain gets heavier, turning from little drops to big splashes. He wonders if he should take cover under a tree, but Chowder is somewhere in the water, catching a fish for him and it doesn’t seem right to let him continue swimming while the weather gets bad. 

He leans over the side of the riverbank, searching the water for any signs of the otter. “Chowder?”

With a splash, Chowder pops up just beneath him. “Yeah?”

Jack sits back, startled. “Oh! I just wanted to say, it’s raining, so you really don’t have to—”

“It’s fine!” Chowder exclaims. He slips out of the water and clambers up the riverbank, two shiny orange fish in his paws. “I got two of them!”

Jack stares at him. “That was… so fast.”

“One for you,” Chowder explains, pressing the fish into Jack’s hooves, “and one for Bitty. Tell him I said hi, okay?” 

“Okay,” Jack says weakly, staring down at the fish. “Thank you, Chowder. Thank you so much.” 

Rain pelts Samwell as Jack rushes back to the garden store. He’s soaked, and Bittle will make fun of him for leaving his umbrella at home, but he doesn’t care. He has the koi, and he’s going to get the rhubarb. Finally, after spending all day running around town in what seemed like a fruitless search, his quest has come to an end. The sunset feast may have to happen indoors because of the rain, but Bittle’s strawberry-rhubarb will be there at the center of the table. 

Jack bursts back into the garden store as a hale rushes down Main Street. He exclaims, “I’m back!”

Nursey glances up from the counter. “Oh, Jack…”

Beside him stands Dex, his arms crossed as he examines the store catalog closely. His face softens when he looks up and sees Jack. He sighs. 

Jack lowers the fish. “What?”

“I’m sorry, Jack,” Dex explains. He glares at Nursey. “I don’t know what this frog told you, but I don’t actually have any rhubarb in stock. 

“Oh,” Jack says. “What?”

“It’s just rhubarb seeds,” Nursey croaks.

“He misread the catalog,” Dex says, tapping the page. “I never sell fully grown rhubarb and I rarely even have the seeds. That’s why Bittle buys his from out of town, because even just the seeds are expensive here.”

Dex sighs again. “Sorry, Jack. I could just sell you the seeds, but…”

He trails off, noticing the koi fish. “Oh, wait, you have two koi?” 

Jack holds them up again. “Yes?” 

Dex seems to think for a moment. “Well, look,” he finally says, “don’t tell anyone, because everyone already thinks I’m hiding monsters or bodies in my greenhouse or whatever, but I could sell you the seeds _and_ a secret formula to help it grow faster.” 

» [How much faster?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23599792/chapters/56639740/#pear)

☀

Wind rushes across the beach as Jack heads towards the coffee shop. He could use a break after that boat ride back from the island, and while he’s there, he’ll check to see if Ransom has any rhubarb in stock. He’s not sure they’ve ever served anything with rhubarb, but it’s the only other place in town to grab a bite to eat. He might as well ask. 

The cafe faces the sea, and though a bell chimes over the door when Jack enters, it is much different inside from Bittle’s bakery. Gone are the pink walls and floral plates. Instead, the bitter scent of coffee overwhelms him. The lights in the coffee shop are dimmed, and from the corner comes a mellow guitar tone, strung out by a villager, Holster, who seems mindlessly lost in the music, not even noticing when Jack enters. Behind the counter, Ransom wipes down a set of mugs, humming softly along to the guitar. Sitting at the counter is Shitty, his bushy tail twitching as he recounts a story to Ransom. He turns around and perks up when Jack enters.

“Jackalope!” Shitty exclaims. He gestures at the open seat next to him with his tail. “Take a seat, officer. I haven’t seen you all day.”

“I’ve been busy,” Jack says. 

Ransom throws the dish rag over his shoulder as Jack sits down. “You’re usually known to frequent other places in town.”

“Ah, well…”

“Certain downtown bakeries, I might say. The kind with cute bunny owners."

“Ha,” Jack says, because he’s not wrong. “Could I get a coffee?”

The cafe fills with strong scents as Ransom navigates the espresso machine expertly. Jack glances past Shitty’s at the display case containing an assortment of foods. There’s a few sandwiches, some muffins, some tarts. He can’t tell if any of them are rhubarb just by looking at him. He hopes they’re serving a special rhubarb tart for spring, and he hopes they have a miraculous stock of extra rhubarb waiting for him in the back.

“Is this a Bunny Day miracle?” Ransom asks through a cloud of steam as the espresso machine hums. “Is Jack about to order a dessert?”

From the corner of the cafe, the guitar abruptly stops.

“Whoa,” Holster exclaims, looking up. “Is that what’s about to happen?”

“Sorry,” Jack says lamely. “I’m just looking.”

Ransom pushes the coffee towards him. “Of course you are. Well, here you go, your usual boring order.”

Jack scans the desserts again. “By chance, are you serving anything with rhubarb in it?”

“You allergic or something?”

“I’m looking for some rhubarb for Bittle. He lost all he had, and—”

“Let me stop you right there,” Ransom says, shaking his head at Jack. “We import all of our goodies directly from Bittle’s bakery. If he doesn’t have it, we definitely don’t have it.”

“He makes that strawberry-rhubarb pie every year for Bunny Day,” Shitty says, his eyes going wide. “Jack, are you telling me we’re going to be deprived of that goodness every year?” 

Jack leans back in his chair with a sigh. “Unfortunately. I accidentally pulled up his rhubarb plant.”

Ransom stops in the middle of wiping out a mug. He exchanges a glance with Shitty, then narrows his eyes at Jack. “Is that a euphemism?”

“How do you _accidentally_ pull up a rhubarb plant?” Shitty exclaims, turning in his chair to face Jack. 

“I thought it was a weed,” Jack exclaims. He clunks himself on the forehead with one hoof. “I just wanted the town to look nice for Bunny Day, so I pulled all the weeds without thinking about it, and I guess one of them was Bittle’s rhubarb.”

He sighs. “I have to find some more for him. He loves making that pie.”

Ransom makes an apologetic noise. “I wouldn’t even know where to start. Isn’t rhubarb pretty rare?” 

“It doesn’t grow around here, at least,” Shitty says with a shrug. He turns back to Jack, staring at him with a frown. “Jack, does Bitty know that you trampled his garden and ruined Bunny Day for all of us?” 

Jack clutches his hot coffee. “I couldn’t bring myself to tell him. I thought, if I just replace the rhubarb, then no one really has to know.”

“Well, your first mistake was telling all of us,” Shitty says. “He’ll find out at some point, and he’ll probably be upset. Don’t you think it would be better if it came from you?”

A moment of silence hangs over the cafe as Jack ponders that. He hadn’t been able to tell Bittle the truth earlier this morning, too afraid of what he might say, but he wonders if Shitty has a point. The longer this goes on, the less likely Jack is to find any rhubarb at all, and the more disappointed Bittle will be in him, especially if he continues to lie. Maybe he should’ve just come out with it this morning, or maybe he should forfeit and do it now. Then again, Bittle’s going to be upset no matter what. If Jack _can_ find some rhubarb—

“Nah,” Ransom says, breaking the silence. He shakes his head. “It’d be better if it came with a side of rhubarb.”

Holster strums the guitar in agreement. “If you could find rhubarb for Bitty, I think he’d forgive anything. This is, like, his favorite holiday. It’ll be ruined if he doesn’t get to make that pie.”

“And if we don’t get to eat it.”

“Right, that too.” 

Shitty shrugs, turning back to his coffee. “I guess Jack just has to ask himself what’s more valuable: pie, or the love and trust of the baker?” 

Jack sinks down in his seat, staring blankly at his untouched cup of coffee. 

“It’s not that deep,” Ransom says. He pushes aside a tray of mugs and leans in towards Jack. “Look, just go ask Dex. He’s hiding all sorts of weird stuff in that greenhouse of his. This time of year, I bet he’s got rhubarb. I bet that’s where Bittle got his from!”

Jack glances at him, suddenly feeling unbelievably stupid. He can’t believe he didn’t think to ask Dex sooner. He walked right past the garden store when he left Bittle’s bakery this morning. It should’ve been the first place he looked. And Ransom might be onto something— Jack’s never been inside the greenhouse, but he knows Bittle’s bought rare ingredients from Dex before. This might be his best chance at finding rhubarb. 

Then again, Shitty’s words won’t leave him alone. How angry will Bittle be if Jack doesn’t tell him the truth? If he spends all day searching in vain and then continues to lie? 

» [Come clean to Bittle.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23599792/chapters/56639842/#coconut)  
» Go to the garden store.

☀

Jack pushes his coffee cup back towards Ransom. “Thanks, guys. I guess I’ll see what’s at the garden store.”

“Sure thing,” Ransom says. They both wave as Jack leaves, the guitar humming on his way out. “Good luck! I can’t wait to eat some of that rhubarb pie tonight.” 

A chill wind blows across the cliffs when Jack leaves the coffee shop. He tucks his jacket tighter and heads north again, walking in silence as he crosses the train tracks towards downtown. Bunny Day hasn’t exactly gone according to plan yet, and he’s wondering if there is an end to this trouble in sight. Hopefully Dex is selling rhubarb for spring or at least knows where Jack can get some.

The garden store sits at the edge of the downtown shops, and luckily too; Jack really doesn’t want to pass by the bakery right now, not until he can come up with something to give Bittle. He steps into the tiny garden store, wind chimes blowing on the porch, and he’s surprised to be greeted by a _ribbit_ at the sales counter. 

“Hey, Jack,” Nursey says from behind the counter. He gives a tiny wave with one webbed hand. “Sup.”

“Hi, Nursey,” Jack says. The wind chimes blow furiously as the door falls shut behind him. He turns around, frowning, and sees dark clouds rolling in from the south. It looks like Bittle was right about the rain after all.

He approaches the counter, hooves in his pockets. “Er, is Dex around at all?” 

Nursey gestures over his shoulder. “He’s out back.”

A back door leads to the greenhouse, a long glass building at least three times the size of the small store. Jack can barely see through the condensation gathered on the glass door, but he thinks he spies a flash of orange weaving between the rows of plants. 

“He’s left me in charge, if you need something,” Nursey offers.

Jack looks at him. “Dex left you in charge?” 

“I know, right? I’m really moving up in the world.” 

Jack glances around the shop. He’s not much of a gardener, and he doesn’t recognize any of the seedlings on the shelves. Hopefully Nursey can help him find what he’s looking for. 

“I'm in need of rhubarb,” he says plainly. 

“Sick,” Nursey says. He pauses. “Oh, that’s what you’re doing here. Yeah, sure, let me look.”

His fingers stick to the pages as he flips through the store catalog, lying on the counter before him. It’s a massive book, and Jack waits as Nursey navigates through it, searching for the ever elusive rhubarb. The store grows darker by the minute, and Jack looks back over his shoulder to the window. overcast, with storm clouds on the horizon. It’ll start raining any minute now, and he left his umbrella at home. Bittle would love this. 

“Rhubarb,” Nursey exclaims suddenly. He lands one finger on a page in the catalog and squints at it. “Yeah, looks like we have some.”

Jack’s heart leaps. “Really?”

“Uh-huh. That’s what it says in the catalog. the only thing is…”

Nursey trails off, reading. “It doesn’t grow around here. It’s kind of expensive.”

“Oh,” Jack says. Then he pauses. “Wait, does Dex accept barters?”

“Totally,” Nursey says. He leans in to read the fine print. “Rhubarb’s kind of rare, so it says here it’s about equivalent to a koi.”

Jack pulls the massive oarfish out of his pocket. “Will this work?”

Nursey jerks back from the counter, his eyes going wide. “Whoa! Where’d you get that, Jack? Are you some kind of secret master fisherman? Hold on, Dex has to see this.” 

He leans back and swings open the greenhouse door. “Hey, Dex. Dex! DEX!”

“What?” Dex calls, barreling in with a watering can in paw. “What you could possibly— whoa, Jack, is that an oarfish?”

» It sure is!

☀

“He wants to barter,” Nursey explains to Dex. “For rhubarb.”

Dex’s look of surprise at the oarfish quickly turns to confusion. “Rhubarb?” he repeats, glancing at Nursey. He scoots past him to consult the catalog. “I don’t have any rhubarb in stock. Where are you seeing that?”

Jack nearly drops the oarfish. “Oh. Wait—”

“Rhubarb seeds,” Dex exclaims, slapping the catalog. “It says it right there!”

“Ah,” Nursey sighs. “Yeah, that’s different.”

Dex glances up at Jack. He hesitates for a moment, his brow furrowing, before he says, “Actually, Jack, if you’re really invested in finding ripe rhubarb, I think I can still help you out. Don’t tell anyone, but I can sell you a secret formula that will make the rhubarb seeds grow faster.” 

» [How much faster?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23599792/chapters/56639740/#pear)


	2. apple

♪

“Bittle,” Jack says, his voice soft. 

Bittle blinks at him. “Hmm?”

“I’m so sorry,” Jack says, and it’s all he can do not to trip over his words as he gets an explanation out. “I think I… I think I did this.”

He adds, “by accident, of course! I think I… I was weeding this morning, and I thought that was a weed. I think I pulled your rhubarb up by accident.”

His words trail off, and he glances to the ground where the rhubarb was once planted, because he can’t stand to watch Bittle looking at him anymore. It’s just a plant, but it meant a lot to Bittle, and the rhubarb pie means a lot to the whole town, and now Jack is the reason they’re not going to get any of that on Bunny Day. 

“I’m the reason you won’t get to make your pie,” Jack mutters.

“Oh, Jack,” Bittle sighs

Jack glances up at him.

Bittle blinks softly at him, his head shifting slightly to the side. The tips of his ears curl. “Honey, it’s just a pie.”

These are words he never thought he’d hear Bittle say, and Jack furrows his brow, surprised. “But it’s one of your favorite pies. You only get to make it once a year on Bunny Day.”

“Well, yes,” Bittle says, frowning. “I did say those things, and they’re true. But honestly, Jack, at the end of the day, it’s just one pie. I can make it again next year.”

He smiles suddenly. “But I am having trouble getting over the fact that you mistook my rhubarb for a common weed.”

Jack gapes until Bittle nudges him, smiling, and then he realizes he’s being teased. He stutters as Bittle grabs him and pulls him back towards the bakery, his rain boots squishing against the street.

“It’s leafy,” Jack exclaims when Bittle opens the door. “It’s got leafy bits. And it was dark this morning, so it looked like—”

“Oh, hush,” Bittle exclaims. The bell tinkles as the door closes behind them, and Bittle moves back around to the other side of the counter with a sigh. “I’m just teasing you, Jack. Although I think it’s a pretty fair thing for me to do, considering you pulled up my rhubarb.”

He whips out a recipe book. “You’re helping me replant my rhubarb next year. You have to know what kind of time and energy I put into that.” 

Jack stands on the other side of the counter, his hooves sheepishly tucked into his pockets, and he feels a wave of relief wash over him as Bittle continues to smile at him, flipping through pages in his recipe book.

“Of course,” Jack says. “I’m sorry, Bits.”

Bittle glances up from the book, the tips of his ears standing straight up. His smirk melts into a soft smile, and he gestures for Jack to come around to the other side of the counter.

“Come here, honey,” he says. “Help me pick a new recipe for Bunny Day.”

“Okay,” Jack says, allowing himself to smile.

He settles against the counter beside Bittle, and they peruse the recipe book together. It takes longer than Jack thinks it should, considering how much baking he knows Bittle has to get done today, but it’s sweet, watching him come up with new ideas and get inspired to bake. Eventually, Bittle settles on a strawberry shortcake, a sign of what’s to come in the summer, when Samwell has warmer weather and clearer skies. 

Bittle’s right about the rain, after all; a storm comes in that afternoon, bringing rain and thunder across the town, sending all the villagers scurrying back to their homes with their half-full baskets of eggs. Jack stays dry at the bakery, where he’s deep in the tasks he’s been recruited to do: cutting cubes of butter, mixing doughs and batters, and making sure the oven stays on. But Bittle does tease him about the rain, about how he left his umbrella at home and thought Bittle was crazy for wearing rain boots all day. Jack can’t help but smile. 

The bad weather lasts just until sunset, when the feast is supposed to begin on the plaza. At the last minute, Bittle packs up everything he’s baked for the day and loads it up in Jack’s arms. They’re a caravan on their way into town, toting pot pies and shortcake and sweets to last through the evening. The plaza’s wet after all that rain, but they make do with picnic blankets, lying on the stonework and not caring if they get a little damp. All the villagers come out, one by one, with their nets and their shovels and their prized eggs that they caught. It’s a Bunny Day feast to end all feasts. 

The sun sets over Samwell that night, as it does every night, and though nothing went quite as planned on Bunny Day, everything still turned out alright.

[Play again?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23599792/chapters/56630314#start)


	3. yuzu

♪

“Bittle,” Jack calls.

Bittle turns, his paw on the knob of the bakery door, and he blinks at Jack. “What’s that?” 

“I’m sorry,” Jack says. “I think this is my fault after all. I was weeding this morning, and it was dark, and I think I might’ve mistaken your rhubarb for a weed. I think I pulled it up by accident.” 

He trails off, glancing back to the garden where the rhubarb was once planted. It’s just a plant, but it meant a lot to Bittle, and the rhubarb pie means a lot to the whole town, and now Jack is the reason they’re not going to get any of that on Bunny Day. 

“I’m sorry,” Jack repeats.

“Oh, Jack,” Bittle sighs. He turns around, stepping towards Jack, and the tips of his ears curl. “Honey, it’s just a pie.”

These are words he never thought he’d hear Bittle say, and Jack furrows his brow, surprised. “But it’s one of your favorite pies. You only get to make it once a year on Bunny Day.”

“Well, yes,” Bittle says, frowning. “I did say those things, and they’re true. But honestly, Jack, at the end of the day, it’s just one pie. I can make it again next year.”

He nudges Jack, smiling, and starts pulling him back towards the bakery. “Come on, you’re excused from all police duties for the rest of the day. You’ve got to help me pick out a new recipe.”

It takes them much longer to pick a new recipe than Jack thinks it should, considering how much baking he knows Bittle has to get done today, but it’s sweet, watching him come up with new ideas and get inspired to bake. Eventually, Bittle settles on a strawberry shortcake, a sign of what’s to come in the summer, when Samwell has warmer weather and clearer skies. 

Bittle’s right about the rain, after all; a storm comes in that afternoon, bringing rain and thunder across the town, sending all the villagers scurrying back to their homes with their half-full baskets of eggs. Jack stays dry at the bakery, where he’s deep in the tasks he’s been recruited to do: cutting cubes of butter, mixing doughs and batters, and making sure the oven stays on. But Bittle does tease him about the rain, about how he left his umbrella at home and thought Bittle was crazy for wearing rain boots all day. Jack can’t help but smile. 

The bad weather lasts just until sunset, when the feast is supposed to begin on the plaza. At the last minute, Bittle packs up everything he’s baked for the day and loads it up in Jack’s arms. They’re a caravan on their way into town, toting pot pies and shortcake and sweets to last through the evening. The plaza’s wet after all that rain, but they make do with picnic blankets, lying on the stonework and not caring if they get a little damp. All the villagers come out, one by one, with their nets and their shovels and their prized eggs that they caught. It’s a Bunny Day feast to end all feasts. 

The sun sets over Samwell that night, as it does every night, and though nothing went quite as planned on Bunny Day, everything still turned out alright. 

[Play again?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23599792/chapters/56630314/#start)


	4. cherry

♪

How could he have mistaken rhubarb for a common weed? He knows it’s a silly mistake to make, even if he still doesn’t quite know what rhubarb looks like. But it was his mistake, and if Bittle’s upset about it, then Jack has to tell him the truth.

The sea breezes are blowing a little harder as he makes his way downtown, hooves shoved awkwardly in his jacket pockets as he crosses the train tracks. Main Street is quiet, as all the villagers are scouring the town for eggs, and something about the quiet makes Jack feel even more guilty. He hates to think of Bittle being all alone up here, upset about his missing plant, and he hates even more that he’s the one who’s responsible.

He enters the bakery quietly, letting the bell on the door announce his arrival. From behind the counter, Bittle looks up.

“Oh, Jack,” he says, standing up straight. He’s poring over a recipe book, flipping the pages one at a time. He stops and lets them flutter down when Jack approaches. “What are you doing here?”

“I ran into Lardo,” he says, speaking softly. “And uh, she told me what happened to your rhubarb…”

Bittle lets out a huff. “It’s probably just those birds. I’ve always thought they were coming for my garden. I caught them trying to get my tomatoes last summer!”

“Actually, Bittle,” Jack says with a sigh, “it was me.”

Bittle stops and looks up at him. “What?”

“I’m sorry,” Jack says, trying not to squirm. “I was weeding earlier and it was dark and I guess I don’t know what rhubarb looks like, so I… I pulled it up. I thought it was a weed.”

Bittle’s eyes fall flat. “Oh.”

“I’m sorry,” Jack echoes. “If there’s anything I can do—”

“No, honey, it’s fine,” Bittle sighs, turning back to his recipe book. “I’ve already started looking for something else to do with my strawberries, and I think I’ve come up with some pretty good ideas.” 

He looks up at Jack, and a small smile forms on his face. “Thank you for telling me though. Here I was, ranting about birds.”

He flips to a new chapter in the recipe book and takes in a deep breath. “Right, well, I’ve got a lot of work to do if I’m going to have everything ready for the feast tonight! You stay on track with your police work, mister, and I’ll be here, baking away. Ooh, how about strawberry shortcake?”

“Alright, Bittle,” Jack says, and he can’t help but smile on his way out the door. Even if he did ruin the strawberry-rhubarb pie, he knows that Bittle will come up with something else just as fantastic. “I’ll see you tonight.” 

Bittle’s right about the rain, after all; a storm comes in that afternoon, bringing rain and thunder across the town, sending all the villagers scurrying back to their homes with their half-full baskets of eggs. Jack gets caught in the worst of it, helping Shitty and Lardo untangle their fishing lines on the beach, and the three of them seek shelter at the coffee shop, where they stay holed up through the afternoon, drinking Ransom out of all the coffee he owns and listening to Holster’s guitar. 

The bad weather lasts just until sunset, when the feast is supposed to begin on the plaza. The villagers emerge one by one, bringing picnic blankets and not caring if they get a little damp. It’s Bunny Day, after all, and they’ve got to get their prizes. Bittle turns out a feast so amazing that Jack doesn’t think anyone even notices the lack of a rhubarb pie. The whole town gathers together on the plaza, and they feast until well after dark. 

The sun sets over Samwell that night, as it does every night, and though nothing went quite as planned on Bunny Day, everything still turned out alright. 

[Play again?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23599792/chapters/56630314/#start)


	5. orange

♪

Jack finds himself standing outside the bakery, the rain pelting down on him. He can barely feel it anymore, and anyways, it’s almost preferable to what he’s going to encounter inside. He has to confess his mistake to Bittle when he gives him the rhubarb seeds. It almost seems silly to even say anything, but he’s spent all day searching for the rhubarb and this is the closest he was able to get. 

The bell on the door chimes when he steps inside. He’s rushed by warm air from the oven, and he hears a small gasp come from the other side of the counter. Bittle stands over a steaming pot pie, staring at him. 

“Jack,” Bittle exclaims instantly. “You’re soaked!” 

Jack glances down at the water that he’s dripping all over the pastel tiles. “Sorry,” he says. “It’s raining.”

“I knew it,” Bittle says under his breath. He dusts his paws free of flour and crosses around to the other side of the counter, staring Jack up and down. “You’re  _ soaked _ , honey. What’ve you been doing out in the rain?”

“I have something to tell you,” Jack says, pulling the rhubarb seeds from his pocket. “So, about your rhubarb…”

“Jack, you didn’t really spend all day looking for more, did you?” Bittle exclaims, exasperated. He steps forward and puts a hand on Jack’s arm. “You didn’t have to do that, especially not in this kind of weather.”

“I did,” Jack says. He holds out the rhubarb seeds. “It was my fault. I accidentally pulled up your rhubarb, and I know there’s not much you can do with these seeds now, but I thought it was better than nothing.” 

He offers them to Bittle. “Here, please take them.”

“Oh, Jack,” Bittle says softly. He puts a paw over his mouth and glances up. “Honey, it was just a pie.”

These are words he never thought he’d hear Bittle say, and Jack looks down at him, surprised. “But it’s one of your favorite pies. You only get to make it once a year on Bunny Day.”

“Well, yes,” Bittle says, frowning. “I mean, I could make it more than once a year. But honestly, Jack, at the end of the day, it’s just a pie. It was just a rhubarb plant. I can make it again next year.”

“But you were so disappointed,” Jack says softly. 

Bittle blinks at him. “Well, I was. I’d been looking forward to making that pie for weeks. But strawberry-rhubarb pie isn’t the most important part of today. Neither is the egg hunt, or any of the other food that I’ve made. Today is about spending time together as a town.

“And you, mister,” Bittle continues, a small smile growing on his face, “have spent all day running around looking for rhubarb for little ole me. And I’ve been holed up in here, baking myself crazy, when the two of us could’ve been out there with our friends, spending the holiday together.”

Jack sighs. “Oh, Bits. I’m sorry.”

“Stop, I’m getting off my high horse,” Bittle says, smiling. “Come on, Jack. I appreciate the sentiment— and I will take the seeds, if you’re still offering— but look! The weather’s clearing up. We’ve got a feast to attend.” 

The clouds disappear just as the sun is setting, and Bittle packs up everything he’s baked to take it to the evening feast. He loads it up in Jack’s arms, and they tote it all into town: pot pies and shortcake and sweets to last all night. The plaza’s wet after all that rain, but they make do with picnic blankets, lying on the stonework and not caring if they get a little damp. All the villagers come out, one by one, with their nets and their shovels and their prized eggs that they caught. It’s a Bunny Day feast to end all feasts. 

The sun sets over Samwell that night, as it does every night, and though nothing went quite as planned on Bunny Day, everything still turned out alright. 

[Play again?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23599792/chapters/56630314/#start)


	6. peach

♪

The rain continues to pour as Jack makes his way to the bakery. He shoves his hooves into his pockets and stands outside the door for a moment, watching the soft light inside. Maybe he should have taken the seeds, but after spending all day chasing rhubarb, he just feels a little silly. The most important thing he can do now is to tell Bittle the truth. 

The bell on the door chimes when he steps inside. He’s rushed by warm air from the oven, and he hears a small gasp come from the other side of the counter. Bittle stands over a steaming pot pie, staring at him. 

“Jack,” Bittle exclaims instantly. “You’re soaked!” 

Jack glances down at the water that he’s dripping all over the pastel tiles. “Sorry,” he says. “It’s raining.”

“I knew it,” Bittle says under his breath. He dusts his paws free of flour and crosses around to the other side of the counter, staring Jack up and down. “You’re  _ soaked _ , honey. What’ve you been doing out in the rain?”

“I have something to tell you,” Jack says. “So, about your rhubarb…”

“Jack, you didn’t really spend all day looking for more, did you?” Bittle exclaims, exasperated. “You didn’t have to do that, especially not in this kind of weather.”

“I did,” Jack says, “because it was my fault. I accidentally pulled up your rhubarb when I was weeding, and I know there’s not much I can do now, but— look, you can have this if you want.”

“A fish,” Bittle exclaims. His eyes go wide, and he shakes his head. “Jack, honey, you really are…”

“Please take it.”

“I— what am I supposed to do with— oh, alright, just give it to me.” 

“I’m sorry,” Jack says as Bittle gingerly sets the fish aside. “I couldn’t even find any rhubarb to replace what you lost.”

“Oh, Jack,” Bittle says, exasperated. “Honey, it was just a pie.”

These are words he never thought he’d hear Bittle say, and Jack looks down at him, surprised. “But it’s one of your favorite pies. You only get to make it once a year on Bunny Day.”

“Well, yes,” Bittle says, frowning. “I mean, I could make it more than once a year. But honestly, Jack, at the end of the day, it’s just a pie. It was just a rhubarb plant. I can make it again next year.”

“But you were so disappointed,” Jack says softly. 

Bittle blinks at him. “Well, I was. I’d been looking forward to making that pie for weeks. But strawberry-rhubarb pie isn’t the most important part of today. Neither is the egg hunt, or any of the other food that I’ve made. Today is about spending time together as a town.

“And you, mister,” Bittle continues, a small smile growing on his face, “have spent all day running around looking for rhubarb for little ole me. And I’ve been holed up in here, baking myself crazy, when the two of us could’ve been out there with our friends, spending the holiday together.”

Jack sighs. “Oh, Bits. I’m sorry.”

“Stop, I’m getting off my high horse,” Bittle says, smiling. “Come on, Jack. I appreciate the sentiment, but look! The weather’s clearing up. We’ve got a feast to attend.” 

The clouds disappear just as the sun is setting, and Bittle packs up everything he’s baked to take it to the evening feast. He loads it up in Jack’s arms, and they tote it all into town: pot pies and shortcake and sweets to last all night. The plaza’s wet after all that rain, but they make do with picnic blankets, lying on the stonework and not caring if they get a little damp. All the villagers come out, one by one, with their nets and their shovels and their prized eggs that they caught. It’s a Bunny Day feast to end all feasts. 

The sun sets over Samwell that night, as it does every night, and though nothing went quite as planned on Bunny Day, everything still turned out alright. 

[Play again?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23599792/chapters/56630314/#start)


	7. pear

♪

The answer is much,  _ much  _ faster. 

Jack’s never going to question what’s in Dex’s greenhouse again, because although the origins of the secret formula may be a little sketchy, the uses are absolutely miraculous. He leaves the garden store with rhubarb seeds, and in just a few minutes, he’s regrown a fully ripe rhubarb plant in Bittle’s garden. It stands tall and proud, just like it did before, and Jack is so delighted with the results that he doesn’t even care that he’s being pelted by rain. 

The bell on the bakery door chimes when he steps inside. He’s rushed by warm air from the oven, and he hears a small gasp come from the other side of the counter. Bittle stands over a steaming pot pie, staring at him. 

“Jack, you’re soaked,” he exclaims. “You look—”

His words fall short when Jack raises the freshly cut rhubarb stalks. 

“Is that…” Bittle starts to ask, but he trails off, his eyes growing round. He moves around from the other side of the counter and approaches Jack gingerly, in awe at the rhubarb. “Where did you get that?”

Jack grins. “Ah, it’s a secret, Bittle.”

“Oh, hush,” Bittle exclaims, scowling at him, but only for a moment. His look of awe returns, and then he begins smiling widely. “Did you really get this for me? Just for me?”

“Of course,” Jack says. He holds it out for Bittle to take. “Who else would I get it for?” 

“Oh, honey,” Bittle cries, clutching the rhubarb stalks in his paws. He flings himself at Jack, pulling him into a tight hug. “Thank you so much!”

Jack’s delight at finding the rhubarb begins to fade as Bittle sets to work, moving about the bakery, grabbing ingredients and utensils and counting down the clock to make sure he has enough time to bake the pie. Jack follows him to the counter, where he stands, waiting for a moment of silence, a nervous feeling growing in his gut.

“Bittle,” he says eventually. “Uh, I have to tell you something about the rhubarb.”

Bittle’s rolling pin stops. “This isn’t blackmarket rhubarb, is it?”

Jack blinks. “What? No. Is there such a thing?”

He shakes his head. “Nevermind, look, Bittle, I feel like I should tell you this: it’s my fault that your rhubarb went missing in the first place.”

Bittle glances up, his brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“I thought it was weed,” Jack says, feeling more foolish by the minute. “I was pulling weeds all across town this morning, and it was so dark, I guess I just mistook the rhubarb for a weed. I’m sorry that you had to spend all day worrying about it, Bittle. And that I didn’t tell you sooner.” 

“Honey,” Bittle says softly. He sets down his rolling pin. “Oh, Jack, I didn’t mean for you to spend all day running around town looking for rhubarb. It’s just a pie.”

These are words he never thought he’d hear Bittle say, and Jack furrows his brow, surprised. “But it’s one of your favorite pies. You only get to make it once a year on Bunny Day.”

“Well, yes,” Bittle says, frowning. “I did say those things, and they’re true. But honestly, Jack, at the end of the day, it’s just one pie. I can make it again next year.”

He smiles suddenly. “I can’t believe you thought it was a weed. The audacity.”

“It looks like a weed,” Jack exclaims, unable to keep from smiling. “Look, it’s green and leafy! How was I supposed to know?”

“I’m teasing you,” Bittle laughs, tossing a pinch of flour at Jack. “Come on, we’ve got to finish this pie before the feast! The weather’s clearing up after all.” 

The clouds disappear just as the sun is setting, and Bittle packs up everything he’s baked to take it to the evening feast. He loads it up in Jack’s arms, and they tote it all into town, including the freshly baked rhubarb pie. The plaza’s wet after all that rain, but they make do with picnic blankets, lying on the stonework and not caring if they get a little damp. All the villagers come out, one by one, with their nets and their shovels and their prized eggs that they caught. It’s a Bunny Day feast to end all feasts. 

The sun sets over Samwell that night, as it does every night, and though nothing went quite as planned on Bunny Day, everything still turned out alright. 

[Play again?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23599792/chapters/56630314/#start)


	8. banana

♪

The rain continues to pour as Jack makes his way to the bakery. He shoves his hooves into his pockets and stands outside the door for a moment, watching the soft light inside. Maybe he could’ve caught a fish if he’d tried hard enough, he mostly just feels silly. The most important thing he can do now is to tell Bittle the truth. 

The bell on the door chimes when he steps inside. He’s rushed by warm air from the oven, and he hears a small gasp come from the other side of the counter. Bittle stands over a steaming pot pie, staring at him. 

“Jack,” Bittle exclaims instantly. “You’re soaked!” 

Jack glances down at the water that he’s dripping all over the pastel tiles. “Sorry,” he says. “It’s raining.”

“I knew it,” Bittle says under his breath. He dusts his paws free of flour and crosses around to the other side of the counter, staring Jack up and down. “You’re  _ soaked _ , honey. What’ve you been doing out in the rain?”

“I have something to tell you,” Jack says. “So, about your rhubarb…”

“Jack, you didn’t really spend all day looking for more, did you?” Bittle exclaims, exasperated. “You didn’t have to do that, especially not in this kind of weather.”

“I did,” Jack says, “because it was my fault. I accidentally pulled up your rhubarb when I was weeding, and I know there’s nothing I can do about it now, but I thought that you deserve to know the truth. I’m sorry.”

“Oh, Jack,” Bittle says softly. “Honey, it was just a pie.”

These are words he never thought he’d hear Bittle say, and Jack looks down at him, surprised. “But it’s one of your favorite pies. You only get to make it once a year on Bunny Day.”

“Well, yes,” Bittle says, frowning. “I mean, I could make it more than once a year. But honestly, Jack, at the end of the day, it’s just a pie. It was just a rhubarb plant. I can make it again next year.”

“But you were so disappointed,” Jack says softly. 

Bittle blinks at him. “Well, I was. I’d been looking forward to making that pie for weeks. But strawberry-rhubarb pie isn’t the most important part of today. Neither is the egg hunt, or any of the other food that I’ve made. Today is about spending time together as a town.

“And you, mister,” Bittle continues, a small smile growing on his face, “have spent all day running around looking for rhubarb for little ole me. And I’ve been holed up in here, baking myself crazy, when the two of us could’ve been out there with our friends, spending the holiday together.”

Jack sighs. “Oh, Bits. I’m sorry.”

“Stop, I’m getting off my high horse,” Bittle says, smiling. “Come on, Jack. I appreciate the sentiment, but look! The weather’s clearing up. We’ve got a feast to attend.” 

The clouds disappear just as the sun is setting, and Bittle packs up everything he’s baked to take it to the evening feast. He loads it up in Jack’s arms, and they tote it all into town: pot pies and shortcake and sweets to last all night. The plaza’s wet after all that rain, but they make do with picnic blankets, lying on the stonework and not caring if they get a little damp. All the villagers come out, one by one, with their nets and their shovels and their prized eggs that they caught. It’s a Bunny Day feast to end all feasts. 

The sun sets over Samwell that night, as it does every night, and though nothing went quite as planned on Bunny Day, everything still turned out alright. 

[Play again?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23599792/chapters/56630314/#start)


	9. coconut

♪

Jack lingers outside the bakery door for a long time before he can bring himself to step inside. He knows that he has to come clean to Bittle. The rhubarb isn’t the most important thing at stake here. Eventually, it starts drizzling, and Jack takes a deep breath before going in. 

The bell on the door chimes when he steps inside. At once, he’s overwhelmed by sweet smells. Bittle is hard at work rolling dough, and for a moment, he doesn’t even seem to notice Jack enter. Then Jack’s wet boots squeak on the pastel tiled floor, and Bittle looks up.

“Jack,” he exclaims. “What are you doing here?” 

“Hey,” Jack says softly. “I know you’re busy baking for the feast, but I have something to tell you. It’s about your rhubarb.”

“You haven’t really been running around all day looking for more, have you?” Bittle asks. He dusts the flour from his paws and watches as Jack approaches the counter, hooves tucked into his pockets. “Especially with a storm coming in?”

“I did, actually,” Jack says. “Kind of, because it was my fault that you lost your rhubarb.”

Bittle blinks at him. “What do you mean?”

“I… thought it was a weed,” Jack says, feeling more foolish by the minute. “I was weeding through town this morning, and I accidentally pulled up your rhubarb, and I just feel like I owe you the truth. And an apology. I’m sorry Bittle.”

“Oh, honey.”

“Look, you can take this if you want,” Jack says, pulling out the oarfish.

Bittle jumps back, his eyes wide, grabbing his rolling pin in self-defense. “Good lord, Jack, what is that?” 

“It’s an oarfish, it’s worth a lot. You can have it, Bittle, I don’t need it.”

“Jack, honey, you really are…” Bittle’s words trail off, and he lowers the rolling plan. He sighs. “Thank you for telling me. Honestly, honey, I’ve already got a dozen different pies to make, so at the end of the day, it’s not really a big deal.”

Jack sets the oarfish aside (a bit oafishly— it’s a big fish), and he frowns at Bittle. “I know, but the rhubarb pie is your favorite. You only get to make it for Bunny Day.”

“Well, yes,” Bittle says, frowning. “I mean, I could make it more than once a year. It’s not like anyone’s stopping me. But really, Jack, it’s just one pie.” 

“But you were so disappointed,” Jack says softly. 

Bittle blinks at him. “Well, I was. I’d been looking forward to making that pie for weeks. But strawberry-rhubarb pie isn’t the most important part of today. Neither is the egg hunt, or any of the other food that I’ve made. Today is about spending time together as a town.”

He pauses, staring with round eyes at the oarfish. “I can’t believe you brought that thing in here.”

Jack glances at it. “Sorry. Should I take it away?” 

“Do something with it,” Bittle says. He reaches under the counter and pulls out an apron, which he tosses to Jack. “After you help me finish here. I’ve got a million things to do before the feast, and I need all the help I can get.” 

The clouds disappear just as the sun is setting, and Bittle packs up everything he’s baked to take it to the evening feast. He loads it up in Jack’s arms, and they tote it all into town: pot pies and shortcake and sweets to last all night. The plaza’s wet after all that rain, but they make do with picnic blankets, lying on the stonework and not caring if they get a little damp. All the villagers come out, one by one, with their nets and their shovels and their prized eggs that they caught. It’s a Bunny Day feast to end all feasts. 

The sun sets over Samwell that night, as it does every night, and though nothing went quite as planned on Bunny Day, everything still turned out alright. 

[Play again?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23599792/chapters/56630314/#start)


	10. durian

♪

When Jack steps outside with the fishing rod, the storm has only gotten worse. He’s nearly blown away by the strong winds that come barreling down Main Street, and the rain slaps down harder than ever, hitting the street in explosive drops. Jack’s not a great fisherman in good weather, and he thinks that he knows, deep down, that he has no chance of catching anything in this rain. He also knows that he’s a bit hardheaded, and he’s put this much effort in finding rhubarb for Bittle. If he’s this close to getting it, then he has to at least try. 

It’s a valiant thought, but he is barely halfway down the street before someone grabs on his arm and shouts his name.

“Jack!” Bittle yells over the rain. “What on earth are you doing?”

Jack glances over his shoulder with wide eyes, and he finds Bittle standing there behind him, holding onto his arm for dear life. The hood of his raincoat has been pulled up his head, flattening his ears, and he stares up at Jack as if he’s crazy. Well, maybe he is.

“Bittle, what are you doing?” Jack yells back. “It’s storming!”

“I know,” Bittle yells. He pulls on Jack’s arm. “For goodness’ sake, drop that thing! You’re going to get struck by lightning.”

Jack glances at the fishing rod. “Oh, yeah.” 

The wind blows them down the street, but Bittle is prepared. He keeps a tight hold on Jack and drags him towards the warm light of the bakery. They burst through the door, the rain following them. Bittle slams the door and tears his hood off before turning to Jack with wide eyes. 

“What were you doing?” he exclaims. “You don’t even like fishing!”

“I like fishing,” Jack protests, as if that’s important right now. He shakes his head and sets the fishing rod down. “Nevermind. I was just—”

“I saw you from down the street,” Bittle continues as he shimmies out of his raincoat. He hangs it up by the door and rushes around to the other side of the counter to fetch a towel, which he tosses to Jack. “I thought you were being sensible and going home, but then I saw you with that lightning rod—”

“Fishing rod.”

“And I thought good lord, he really has lost it!”

“Bittle,” Jack says, wrapping the towel around his shoulders. “I was— I was just trying to catch a koi so I could trade it for rhubarb.”

Bittle stares at him. “Please tell me that’s not true.”

“It was my fault,” Jack exclaims. He steps up to the counter. “I accidentally pulled up your rhubarb while I was weeding, and I just thought if I got some more for you then—”

“Jack,” Bittle says. His voice softens. “Oh, honey.” 

“I’m sorry,” Jack says with a sigh. “I didn’t mean to make you worry even more.”

“I haven’t been sitting here moping all day,” Bittle says, smiling a little bit. He tips his head to the side, watching Jack. “Honey, you didn’t have to do that for me. Tell me you haven’t been running around town all day looking for rhubarb.”

Jack hesitates. “Well…”

“Oh my goodness,” Bittle sighs. He leans forward onto the counter. “Jack, it was just a pie.”

“But it’s one of your favorite pies,” Jack says. “You only get to make it once a year on Bunny Day.”

“I could make it whenever I want,” Bittle exclaims. He frowns. “I mean, assuming I actually have rhubarb, but you know what I mean. That pie isn’t what makes Bunny Day special. Neither does the egg hunt or anything else. Today should’ve been about spending time together as a town.” 

Jack sighs. He rubs his face with the towel. “Bits, I’m sorry.” 

“Just promise me you won’t go running around in any more storms.” 

Jack can’t help but grin at that. “Alright, Bittle. I think I can stick to that.”

Bittle smiles, then glances over the bakery. “I’ve still got a lot to do before the feast. You can help, as soon as you’re dried off. Don’t come dripping into my kitchen.”

“You think there’s still going to be a feast?” Jack asks, glancing out the window at the rain. 

“You just wait and see,” Bittle says with a smile. 

The bad weather lasts just until sunset, when the feast is supposed to begin on the plaza. At the last minute, Bittle packs up everything he’s baked for the day and loads it up in Jack’s arms. They’re a caravan on their way into town, toting pot pies and shortcake and sweets to last through the evening. The plaza’s wet after all that rain, but they make do with picnic blankets, lying on the stonework and not caring if they get a little damp. All the villagers come out, one by one, with their nets and their shovels and their prized eggs that they caught. It’s a Bunny Day feast to end all feasts. 

The sun sets over Samwell that night, as it does every night, and though nothing went quite as planned on Bunny Day, everything still turned out alright.

[Play again?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23599792/chapters/56630314/#start)


	11. lemon

♪

Samwell appears on the horizon from a distance. Jack watches the town as the boat floats towards the dock. It’s quiet now that the storm has calmed down, and lights from the villagers’ houses dot the cliffside, lighting up the evening sky. The boat comes closer to the beach, and Jack squints, spying someone standing on the dock in a raincoat. His heart jumps.

“Jack,” Bittle says when the boat docks. “You’re alright.”

He speaks softly, and he puts his paw to his cheeks when Jack jumps off the boat and walks towards him. 

“Of course I’m alright,” Jack says, frowning. “Bittle, what are you doing here?”

“You’ve been gone forever,” Bittle exclaims, staring up at Jack with wide eyes. “You didn’t show up for the feast, and then I asked around and people said they saw you getting on a boat to go to the island, and then that storm came through and it was so bad! I was worried about you, honey.”

Jack smiles, his heart melting. “Bits, you didn’t need to worry about me. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize!”

“Actually, there is something I need to apologize for,” Jack says with a sigh. “Bittle, I accidentally pulled up your rhubarb. I thought it was a weed.”

There’s a moment of silence as Bittle stares at him; then he bursts into laughter. Jack blinks.

“Honey, I don’t care about the rhubarb,” Bittle says, wiping tears from the corner of his eyes. “That ship sailed a while ago! I’ve just been worried about where you were, and now— Jack, it doesn’t look anything like a weed!”

Jack can’t help but laugh too.

“Yes, it does,” he exclaims. “It’s green and leafy, and— it was dark out, Bittle.” 

Bittle splits into a grin, staring up at him. He reaches out and touches Jack’s arm, his face softening into something more tender. 

“I’m just glad you’re okay,” he says quietly. He gestures to the town. “Come on, we saved you some food.” 

The town feels fresh after the spring rain, and the villagers continue their Bunny Day celebrations into the night. They light candles on the plaza and sit on picnic blankets, not caring if they get a little damp. They eat leftovers by candlelight, sitting close together, telling stories, and swapping egg hunt prizes. There is no rhubarb pie, but there’s plenty of other food, not to mention good company. It’s a Bunny Day feast to end all feasts.

The sun will rise in Samwell tomorrow morning, as it does every morning, and though nothing went quite as planned on Bunny Day, everything still turned out alright.

[Play again?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23599792/chapters/56630314/#start)


	12. lychee

♪

The storm passes, like all storms do, and Jack takes the first boat back to Samwell. Sunset has come and gone under the cover of rain clouds, and Jack realizes that he will have missed the Bunny Day feast. All that time spent searching for rhubarb, and he finally found some, and yet there still won’t be a rhubarb pie at the feast tonight. Still, he has some rhubarb to give Bittle to replace what was lost. 

Samwell appears on the horizon from a distance. Jack watches the town as the boat floats towards the dock. It’s quiet now that the storm has calmed down, and lights from the villagers’ houses dot the cliffside, lighting up the evening sky. The boat comes closer to the beach, and Jack squints, spying someone standing on the dock in a raincoat. His heart jumps.

“Jack,” Bittle says when the boat docks. “You’re alright.”

He speaks softly, and he puts his paw to his cheeks when Jack jumps off the boat and walks towards him. 

“Of course I’m alright,” Jack says, frowning. “Bittle, what are you doing here?”

“You’ve been gone forever,” Bittle exclaims, staring up at Jack with wide eyes. “You didn’t show up for the feast, and then I asked around and people said they saw you getting on a boat to go to the island, and then that storm came through and it was so bad! I was worried about you, honey.”

Jack smiles, his heart melting. “Bits, you didn’t need to worry about me. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize!”

“Actually, there is something I need to apologize for,” Jack says with a sigh. “Bittle, I accidentally pulled up your rhubarb. I thought it was a weed.

“But,” he continues as Bittle stares at him in silence, “I did my best to make up for it. And even though it’s too late to be served at the feast…”

He pulls out the rhubarb bundle, and Bittle gasps, throwing a paw over his mouth.

“Where did you get this?” he asks, reaching out to touch it. 

“A small child gambled it to me,” Jack explains.

Bittle looks at him. “What?” 

“It’s an island secret.” 

He presses the rhubarb into Bittle’s paws, smiling to himself as he marvels over it. Bittle takes a good sniff of it, and then he reaches out and touches Jack’s arm, his smile melting into something more tender.

“Jack, you really didn’t have to do this for me,” Bittle says. “You went all the way to the island?”

“I should go more often,” Jack says. “They have better weather than us.”

Bittle smiles. “I’m just glad you’re okay. And you missed the feast, but we saved you some food and— you can help me make a rhubarb pie!”

“Now?” Jack exclaims. “How many pies have you made today?” 

“Hush, that’s not important.” 

The town feels fresh after the spring rain, and the villagers continue their Bunny Day celebrations into the night. They gather in the small bakery on Main Street, watching in awe as Bittle whips together a delicious pie out of the rhubarb Jack brought him. They sit close together and eat pie with their leftovers, swapping egg hunt prizes and telling stories of the day. It’s a Bunny Day feast to end all feasts.

The sun will rise in Samwell tomorrow morning, as it does every morning, and though nothing went quite as planned on Bunny Day, everything still turned out alright.

[Play again?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23599792/chapters/56630314/#start)


	13. mango

♪

The storm passes, like all storms do, and Jack takes the first boat back to Samwell. Sunset has come and gone under the cover of rain clouds, and Jack realizes that he will have missed the Bunny Day feast. All that time spent searching for rhubarb, stranded on the island, when he could have been in town with the rest of the villagers. At least he has something to give to Bittle, even if it’s not the rhubarb he was looking for. 

Samwell appears on the horizon from a distance. Jack watches the town as the boat floats towards the dock. It’s quiet now that the storm has calmed down, and lights from the villagers’ houses dot the cliffside, lighting up the evening sky. The boat comes closer to the beach, and Jack squints, spying someone standing on the dock in a raincoat. His heart jumps.

“Jack,” Bittle says when the boat docks. “You’re alright.”

He speaks softly, and he puts his paw to his cheeks when Jack jumps off the boat and walks towards him. 

“Of course I’m alright,” Jack says, frowning. “Bittle, what are you doing here?”

“You’ve been gone forever,” Bittle exclaims, staring up at Jack with wide eyes. “You didn’t show up for the feast, and then I asked around and people said they saw you getting on a boat to go to the island, and then that storm came through and it was so bad! I was worried about you, honey.”

Jack smiles, his heart melting. “Bits, you didn’t need to worry about me. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize!”

“Actually, there is something I need to apologize for,” Jack says with a sigh. “Bittle, I accidentally pulled up your rhubarb. I thought it was a weed.

“I did my best to make up for it,” he continues as Bittle stares at him in silence, “and though I didn’t find any rhubarb, I did manage to come across…”

He pulls out the basket of fresh peaches. Bittle’s eyes go round. 

“Peaches?” he exclaims, reaching out to touch them. “At this time of year? Jack, where on earth did you get these?”

“A small child gambled them to me,” Jack explains.

Bittle looks at him. “What?” 

“It’s an island secret.” 

He lets Bittle take the basket, smiling as he smells each of the peaches. When he looks up, Bittle reaches out and touches Jack’s arm, his smile melting into something more tender.

“Jack, you didn’t have to do this for me,” Bittle says. “You went all the way to the island to look for rhubarb?”

“I should go more often,” Jack says. “They have better weather than us.”

Bittle smiles. “I’m just glad you’re okay. And you missed the feast, but we saved you some food. And you can help me make a peach pie!” 

“Now?” Jack exclaims. “How many pies have you made today?” 

“Hush, that’s not important.” 

The town feels fresh after the spring rain, and the villagers continue their Bunny Day celebrations into the night. They light candles on the plaza and sit on picnic blankets, not caring if they get a little damp. They eat leftovers by candlelight, sitting close together, telling stories, and swapping egg hunt prizes. There is no rhubarb pie, but there’s plenty of other food, not to mention good company. It’s a Bunny Day feast to end all feasts.

The sun will rise in Samwell tomorrow morning, as it does every morning, and though nothing went quite as planned on Bunny Day, everything still turned out alright.

[Play again?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23599792/chapters/56630314/#start)


	14. persimmon

♪

The storm passes, like all storms do, and Jack takes the first boat back to Samwell. Sunset has come and gone under the cover of rain clouds, and Jack realizes that he will have missed the Bunny Day feast. All that time spent searching for rhubarb, stranded on the island, when he could have been in town with the rest of the villagers. At least he has something to give to Bittle, even if it’s not the rhubarb he was looking for. 

Samwell appears on the horizon from a distance. Jack watches the town as the boat floats towards the dock. It’s quiet now that the storm has calmed down, and lights from the villagers’ houses dot the cliffside, lighting up the evening sky. The boat comes closer to the beach, and Jack squints, spying someone standing on the dock in a raincoat. His heart jumps.

“Jack,” Bittle says when the boat docks. “You’re alright.”

He speaks softly, and he puts his paw to his cheeks when Jack jumps off the boat and walks towards him. 

“Of course I’m alright,” Jack says, frowning. “Bittle, what are you doing here?”

“You’ve been gone forever,” Bittle exclaims, staring up at Jack with wide eyes. “You didn’t show up for the feast, and then I asked around and people said they saw you getting on a boat to go to the island, and then that storm came through and it was so bad! I was worried about you, honey.”

Jack smiles, his heart melting. “Bits, you didn’t need to worry about me. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize!”

“Actually, there is something I need to apologize for,” Jack says with a sigh. “Bittle, I accidentally pulled up your rhubarb. I thought it was a weed.

“I did my best to make up for it,” he continues as Bittle stares at him in silence, “and though I didn’t find any rhubarb, I did manage to come across…”

He pulls out the bouquet of roses. Bittle puts a paw to his mouth and stares at them. 

“I know it’s not something you can bake,” Jack says softly, “but I gambled a small child for these, so I hope you enjoy them.”

“You did what?” Bittle exclaims, glancing up as he reaches out to touch the roses. 

“Never mind. Here.” 

He presses the bouquet in Bittle’s paws, and Bittle smiles softly, leaning in to smell the roses. When he looks up, he reaches out and touches Jack’s arm. 

“You went all the way to the island to look for rhubarb?” he asks. 

“I should go more often,” Jack says. “They have better weather than us.”

Bittle takes one more deep smell of the roses. “I’m just glad you’re okay, honey. Come on, we saved you some food.”

The town feels fresh after the spring rain, and the villagers continue their Bunny Day celebrations into the night. They light candles on the plaza and sit on picnic blankets, not caring if they get a little damp. They eat leftovers by candlelight, sitting close together, telling stories, and swapping egg hunt prizes. There is no rhubarb pie, but there’s plenty of other food, not to mention good company. It’s a Bunny Day feast to end all feasts.

The sun will rise in Samwell tomorrow morning, as it does every morning, and though nothing went quite as planned on Bunny Day, everything still turned out alright.

[Play again?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23599792/chapters/56630314/#start)


End file.
